


The Turning Point

by Hornswaggler



Category: Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 11:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5537414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hornswaggler/pseuds/Hornswaggler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a long trek to the evacuation, and though you can't be picky about your friends in the apocalypse, Carter feels he lucked out with his little ragtag team. Luck doesn't last long, of course, and soon after a Hunter attack they start to learn that the infection doesn't work the same for each person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a sweater causes panic.

"I can't stop the bleeding…Dammit, Hank, give me that gauze."

The voices were faint, muffled. It was like trying to hear through a thick door, only the door this time happened to be a blinding wall of pain.

"Think it hit an artery? …cut past the sleeve so I can see it…"

_What happened?_

"C'mon, Carter, don't give up on us now.  _Look at me,_ will you?"

"Don't snap at him, Steven, he's lookin' right at ya…"

"He's looking  _through_ me, not at me-"

_Looking at who?_

Carter managed to blink once, suddenly aware that his eyes were open. That seemed to trigger every other sense and they crashed back into action. He could hear the distant wind but the buzzing of a florescent light overhead was much more prominent. The only smell that was distinguishable from a general underlying stench was that of fresh blood, strong enough that he could taste its metallic tang. His fingers clenched around the first surface they came in contact with which seemed to be a thin sheet that lay on top of a concrete floor.

"Alright kid, calm down… _Breathe,_ Carter. We're patching you up. You're going to be fine."

It took a moment to control his breathing, which he suddenly realized had been near hyperventilation, and another moment to focus his eyes on the silhouette crouched above him.

Hank. This was Hank, one of the men he had found traveling through the city. Blond, fairly well muscled, and extremely skilled with the gun now strapped at his waist. A quick glance to the side - he didn't risk moving his head - found Steven kneeling nearby with the contents of a first-aid kit strewn around next to him. Steven Arthur, as he had introduced himself - Hank hadn't bothered giving his last name. The man's hair was jet black and had been fairly neat when they had first met. After a week he had given up on keeping it flat and it stuck up at every angle now. He was tall, quite thin, and the most down-to-earth of the group. His hands were covered in blood and Carter concluded grimly that, judging by their lack of serious injuries, it could only be his.

"How-" he attempted to ask, only to find his throat completely dry. He coughed once before stifling the rest; the sudden movement only intensified the pain in his chest. Swallowing once, he managed to let out a breath and grit his teeth as every wound seemed to throb as one. "How'd we get here?"

The others exchanged a glance and Steven lifted Carter's left arm as gently as he could manage, beginning to wrap some white cloth around the gash that seemed to have no intention of stopping its bleeding.

"It's a safe house, I guess," Hank muttered. "You were out cold when we got here. There're signs pointin' toward it downtown."

"Door is steel," Steven put in. "Should keep any unwanted visitors out…most of them, anyway."

Carter concentrated more on keeping back a groan than on any prospect of the infected bursting through into the enclosed space. He fought to ignore the pounding in his chest - and right leg and left arm - and attempted to remember what exactly had happened before he had blacked out.

_They were doing fairly well, which was recipe for disaster. Hank could find routes around any large groups of infected and Steven, with the sub-machine gun he had taken from some cop car, could take down most threats before they reached the little group. Carter had the only practical short-range weapon, a crowbar they had found in a construction site, and he could usually beat away things that got too close._

_He hated it._

_The city was quiet, but not quiet enough for comfort. They could always hear distant screeches and moaning. Hank had once sworn he heard someone crying, but they let paranoia win over and kept out of the dark building they were passing. Carter was the one to spot something moving on a rooftop. It was a dark shape, and it was out of sight before he could really identify it. The young man shook off the thought quickly, blaming his constant state of terror for playing tricks on him. He noticed Steven glance up a few times, his brow furrowed in a frown, but he too seemed to ignore it and they pressed on in silence._

_The alley was dark, but free of any wandering figures. Hank and Steven walked in front and Carter kept a careful eye behind them in search of anything that may attempt some sneak attack. The zombies weren't exactly bright, but he wouldn't put it past one of them to try an actual plan. At that thought, he snorted quietly._

" _If they get smart, we're screwed."_

_The others glanced back and Hank seemed to cringe, though his expression was hard to read in the shadows.._

" _If they start gettin' smart I'm gonna turn myself in," he muttered. "No use drawin' it out."_

_A sudden screech cut off any potential replies and the three froze, guns and crowbar lifting impulsively. After almost a minute of silence, Steven swallowed._

" _Probably trying to kill each other again…"_

_Carter nodded absently, green eyes still scanning the entrance of the alley carefully. It was definitely an infected screech, but it seemed different from the ones he had heard so far. This one seemed clearer, even…predatory. It echoed too much around the bricks to pinpoint a direction, but whatever it was couldn't be far away. He fought back a shiver and followed his companions as they started off again._

_The flash of movement was the only warning. A blur of grey and blue sailed above them between the two roofs. They froze again, three sets of eyes staring up._

" _What the-"_

_Another screech cut off any further words and Carter found he couldn't even yell as the air was knocked from his lungs in an instant. The stars he tried to blink from his eyes only intensified as he felt sudden daggers of pain shooting through his chest. A distant part of his mind realized that he was pinned to the concrete, two sharp knees digging into his stomach and his right arm twisted beneath him. The crowbar was long gone - knocked out of his grasp when he fell - and it seemed that his left hand was frozen at the moment._

_It didn't take long for the young man to manage a scream, his eyes focusing enough to take in the sight above him. It was a zombie of some sort, that much was obvious. The thing had a hood pulled down over its eyes and yellow teeth were pointed, bared in a feral snarl. Blood was caked around the mouth and down the front of the hoodie. It_ used  _to be human, he could tell…but there was no way any trace of humanity was left now. Carter barely realized that he was still screaming somehow, despite having such little air left to use._

 _The infection had turned its hands into claws and they were currently tearing effortlessly through his jacket and into his chest and the arm that he hadn't realized he was using to ward off the blows. He felt sharp teeth close on his hand when it got too close to the thing's face and he yanked it back, ignoring the sharp pain as the skin tore. For some reason he couldn't look away from the face, the eyes that were shadowed by the hood. After a few seconds he realized that it was_ grinning. _That snarl wasn't just one of some mindless beast attempting to intimidate its prey. It was getting a thrill out of tearing him to shreds. That wasn't right, it wasn't_ normal.  _They weren't supposed to be aware…_

_The weight was suddenly gone. He could hear scuffling, gun fire, shouts…the stars overhead were starting to blur and Carter blinked once. The low groaning caught him by surprise before he realized that it was coming from his own throat. Any nearby noise ceased and he was only aware of a figure blocking out his view of the sky for a moment, wondering blearily whether it was that infected coming to finish him off before the black of the sky grew to encompass his vision and he sank into unconsciousness._

His breathing had grown labored again and he could tell Hank was watching him with a good deal of concern as Steven continued to wrap the stubbornly bleeding arm.

"How you holdin' up?" the blond man asked, and Carter turned his focus to him with an attempt at a grin. It turned into more of a grimace, but he didn't have the energy to fix it.

"I'll survive," Carter ground out. "Just…just a little beat up, right?"

Judging by Hank's expression, it was more than just 'a little'. He chose not to question that and glanced down at himself briefly. The bandages covered most of his bare upper chest and there was a bit of red seeping through already. He had a wrap on his leg, just above the knee, and his jeans were more torn than they had been before. Steven was just finishing applying the bandages on his left arm and he could see that the bite on his hand was already covered. "Good thing we don't have any girls around, isn't it?"

Hank managed to force a chuckle, though as he looked up at Steven, the black-haired man still looked deadly serious.

"We'll have to stay here a day or two," he mumbled, tightening the bandage - Carter winced as the pain there spiked - and standing.

"Stay here -" Carter stared at him incredulously - "we can't stay here; what about the evac?"

Dark eyes looked down at him and Steven sighed, wiping his hands idly on his already-filthy jeans.

"You're not going anywhere for a while, kid. I've done the best I can, but that thing took a few pretty good swipes at you. We'll be lucky if there's no infection." The simple word 'infection' made the other two freeze for a moment and Hank's eyes darted toward the steel door.

"Just what we need," he growled. "Ya better not get any infection, ya hear me Carter?"

Carter managed a small chuckle, attempting to push himself up slightly with his good arm. It was a failed effort and he sank back down with a wince. The pain was still there, but it had lowered in intensity. A bottle of pain-killers in the pile of first-aid was probably to thank for that much.

"I'll try my best." His voice was strained and they seemed to notice, but no one commented.

Steven grunted. "Try to get some sleep," he said. "I'm going to see if there's a sink in this place…" He strode off again, apparently into the further depths of the safe room.

Carter let his head fall back again. Hank sank down onto the floor beside him, staring at the opposite wall.

"'Destruction is eminent,'" Hank muttered, ignoring the odd look he received. "'CEDA brought this on themselves'…'watch for crying - not survivor'."

"What are you doing?" Carter asked, and Hank looked down.

"Readin' the wall. People've written all over this thing. Doesn't make sense, half of it. A lot is notes to family, I think." It fell silent, Hank's eyes still scanning the scribbled words.

Family was an odd thing to think about now, after all this. They had seen Steven's old boss ambling down the street, green-tinged foam around his mouth. Hank swore that one of the infected he took down was his landlord - "And I'm not sorry about that one!" - and though Carter hadn't recognized any of the zombies yet, he knew it was a distinct possibility. He hadn't been in this city long; the office he worked in had just opened a month or so ago. As such, he didn't know many people in the area yet. His neighbors had fled a long time ago and he hadn't seen the receptionist he had befriended since she had gone to see her family across town.

Honestly, he hadn't spared his own family much thought these past two weeks. It seemed almost selfish, but the need to survive seemed to overpower any concern. Had they been turned? He couldn't imagine his younger brother as some mindless zombie stumbling down an alley…but then again, Steven probably hadn't pictured his boss like that either.

And were they truly mindless? The 'normal' infected they came across appeared to be simple beasts - humans reverted to basic animalistic instincts - but that one that had jumped on him earlier didn't exactly mirror that. It had  _pounced_ from the roof, it had been following them until they got into an alley; it had a  _plan_ and apparently took great pleasure in carrying it out. The thought made him shiver and Hank glanced over but didn't question it.

"You think-" Carter hesitated as the other man turned to him, wondering whether he should even bring it up. "You think they can still, you know… _think_?"

There was a pause before Hank sighed, glancing up as Steven came back in. Judging by the dark stain still on his hands, he had been unsuccessful in finding running water.

"I don't like to consider it," the blond man muttered. "The commons, nah; they haven't got a thought left other than attacking anythin' that makes noise. That one in the alley, though, the one that jumped ya…" His face wrinkled in a quick grimace. "That one was smart. Knocked the crowbar from your hand, pinned ya down…bullets didn't seem to do a whole lot. Steven here shoved it off of ya, but it ran. Don't think we killed it."

"It was too fast," Steven growled. "I only hit it once, I think, and that was just in the shoulder. That thing stalked us, you know. I noticed it at least twenty minutes before it jumped."

Carter managed a hollow laugh. "So now we've got stalker zombies, too? What, did it get out of a prison?" The others didn't seem to find it amusing and he fell silent again, one hand gingerly feeling his chest. Subject change. This one was getting a bit too creepy for his tastes. "You find any water?"

Steven managed to get most of the scowl off of his face, sinking to the floor beside Hank.

"A good amount of bottled stuff, but the plumbing is shot. It's best to save what we have for drinking. Personal hygiene is less of a priority than staying alive."

"How much is there?" Hank asked.

Steven hesitated before shrugging. "Enough. We'll hold out until we can find another place like this or some store that isn't stripped clean." The three were quiet for a while, each in their own thoughts. Eventually Steven reached over to grab some piece of fabric that lay against the wall and handed it to Carter. "That was the only shirt I could find. Your's was torn to shreds, we had to scrap it."

Carter managed to sit up slightly, wincing as he rested his weight on his good elbow and shook open the garment. It wasn't anything spectacular; a simple dark blue sweatshirt with some drawstring hood. It was simple, but the sight made his breath catch in his throat.

"This is-this is just like…" He glanced up to see the others watching him curiously. They apparently hadn't seen that stalker zombie close up. They didn't notice the resemblance this hoodie bore to the one it had been wearing. Granted, this was much darker in color and free of the various bloodstains. It was actually whole, not tattered and torn in places.

"You alright, kid?" Hank asked after a moment.

They didn't know. It had been moving too fast, they hadn't even seen it.

_It's just a sweater, idiot. Better than walking around without a shirt._

"Yeah, fine." Carter swallowed and attempted a grin. "Just reminded me of something my brother used to wear."

What if it had  _been_ his brother under that hood, underneath all that blood…? But no, James lived three states over. No way he would end up here.

_He wouldn't attack me. Infected or not, that thing was smart. He would've known it was me..._

Steven nodded, settling back against the wall and glancing up at the light as if willing it to turn off on its own.

"Get some sleep," he said. "We're camping out here tomorrow, but I want to get out of this place as soon as we can. The food isn't going to last forever and we need to make that evac."

Carter nodded, rolling up the sweater and laying his head on it. Much better than some concrete floor with only a sheet for padding.

"I'll take first watch," Hank offered, getting to his feet. "That door's strong but I wouldn't enjoy somethin' comin' through without warnin'."

"Appreciate it, Hank." Steven rubbed the back of his head idly - a habit Carter had noticed within the first day - and glanced around the safe room quickly. "Wake me up after a few hours. We'll let Carter sleep through the night. And  _don't_ give me that look," he warned, cutting off any protest the younger man was about to make. "I want to get out of here fast. We can only do that if you get better, you hear me?"

Carter let out a resigned breath. "Fine…"

It wasn't always easy to fall asleep during a zombie apocalypse, but the combination of exhaustion and pain-killers did the trick then. After only a few minutes of darkness - Hank had turned the light out in order to keep attention off of them - Carter managed to relax very slightly. Sleep hit him like a boulder to the head a few moments later and the last thing he saw was Steven pushing himself to his feet and crossing the room to stand beside Hank, their figures silhouetted in the faint light from the door.


	2. The Precaution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it isn't polite to ask a man's age.

"…didn't mention any, no."

"He barely knows how to use a gun; how could he have held out that long?"

"I told ya, he's smart. Not the kind to go chargin' out into the street to find his dog or somethin'. It was only luck that let  _me_ find the kid. I don't think any of the infected knew he was there."

"So he hadn't been attacked the entire time?"

"Told ya, not that he said…"

Carter let himself lie still, eyes still closed against the light that was filtering in from outside. Judging by Hank's tone, the two men had had this conversation before - perhaps multiple times. They were sitting on the other side of the room, somewhere near the door that led into another small room. Both voices were low and he could guess they still assumed him to be asleep.

"Look Hank, I'm just being reasonable here. We need to get to that evacuation before they give up on this place, right? I'm willing to wait a few days for him to heal, but if there's a chance -"

"He'll be fine." Hank said it so determinedly that it seemed to end the conversation for a few seconds. Steven was stubborn, though, and not one to give up his point that easily.

"How do you know? He's never been attacked, barely even had contact with the infected before you came along, and now he suddenly gets torn to shreds and bitten…I'm just saying, I've seen it happen before. It's not an outcome anyone would prefer, but it's the truth."

"He'll be fine, Steven." Hank sighed heavily, pausing before he continued. "Besides, they were sayin' it's airborne. I dunno how he'd still be normal after this long if he weren't immune."

_They think I might turn…_ The realization was like another slash of that Stalker's claws - he had unconsciously adopted the name for the thing and didn't see a point in trying to find another - and Carter blinked his eyes open, glancing toward the others quickly. His return to consciousness woke up the remainder of his body very suddenly and the young man barely kept back a groan as every wound announced itself. The cut on his leg wasn't all that bad - probably just a glancing blow as he had been pounced - but everything else was steadily throbbing again. The bandages all had at least some blood seeping through and he looked pointedly away from them, staring at the wall with clenched teeth.

"…let me ask, will ya? You can be a little too blunt." Steven grunted in agreement, getting to his feet and turning. His eyes widened slightly as he looked down at Carter and he crossed the room quickly.

"Looks like he's still alive," he murmured, crouching down next to his companion. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got attacked by a lawn mower," Carter muttered. The pain-killers had obviously done their job last night; he couldn't remember it being  _this_ painful before. "I think I might have to agree with your plan to wait here for a while." Steven managed a small chuckle, glancing up as Hank joined them. The blonde man's face was an odd combination of worry and relief and the latter seemed fairly misplaced. Carter shrugged the thought off, focusing he concentration on remaining coherent. "Any sort of set plan?"

"There's enough food in here for a while," Steven told him. "I'd say five days if we stretch it. Whoever comes in after us will be out of luck, but I don't think we can afford to worry about that. Think you'll be able to head out before then?"

"I'd be ready to go tomorrow if someone was willing to carry me." He got the desired effect; both men grinned and Hank even laughed, shaking his head.

"You're outta luck there. I get some heavy supplies, but that doesn't include you." Carter pushed past the persistent grimace and managed a grin himself. He attempted to sit up, using his good arm as a support, but the pain in his chest flared again and he gave up the effort.

"It shouldn't be long," he told them, glancing between the two. "I healed fairly quickly before all this. Shouldn't have changed just because the world's gone to smash, right?" The exchanged look didn't go unnoticed and he saw Steven raise his eyebrows at Hank quickly before they turned back.

"Shouldn't, no. There's not much to…" Hank trailed off, frowning slightly again. He was looking at the wall as if hoping it would give him some decent answers before he sighed. "Look, Carter, there's…I found ya in that rundown little apartment, yeah?" A quick nod in the affirmative and the blonde man went on hastily. "Were ya ever attacked before that? Any…any bites or anythin'?" Though he knew exactly where this question was leading, Carter remained silent for a few moments before shaking his head.

"No. I holed up there after I saw someone down the hall get killed, but…they never got to me. I would've stayed if it weren't for that announcement about the evacuations."

"No contact at all?" He shook his head again and Hank couldn't fully hide his soft sigh. It was Steven that finally got to the point, however, ignoring the stony look he received as he jumped into the conversation.

"Are you immune, kid?" The safe room feel silent, a much heavier silence than was ever achieved outside. Even the buzz of the overhead lights was absent as Carter swallowed.

"I don't-I must be. I'd be dead by now if I weren't, right?"

"Dead or a zombie," Hank agreed, shooting another glare at Steven. The tall man shook his head, dark eyes closing for a moment.

"You haven't had any contact with the infected before you met Hank," he reminded him - probably reminding both of them, really. "The virus was airborne to begin with, but I've seen my fair share of people turn only after they're attacked. If you're immune it's just normal injuries, some chance of a normal infection, but if you're not…" The implied ending to that sentence settled onto them like some damp blanket. "We can't take chances with this, Carter.  _Are you immune?"_ The pause was long. Carter could hear the soft grumbling of some infected that couldn't have been too far from the door. It didn't matter if they alerted them, though - not as long as that steel held. After a short time of managing to hold Steven's piercing gaze, the younger man looked away.

"I don't know." Steven leaned back slightly with a sigh, looking around the room. He got to his feet after a moment, striding to the other side of the room. Hank watched him before turning back.

"He's worried," he murmured. "I am too, honestly. He's just not good at handlin' worry." Carter nodded once, avoiding eye contact carefully.

"What'll…I mean, what happens if I do-"

"You're not turnin'." Hank interrupted him quickly, almost desperately. "You'll be fine, alright?" Any response was cut short as a sharp click got both men's attention and they looked over curiously. Steven still had his back to them, but as he turned Carter felt any brief hope plummet. His companion had an expression more grim than he had seen before and a pistol in one hand. The click could be identified as the all-too-familiar sound of a hammer being pulled back.

Hank was on his feet in a split second, stepping between Steven and the injured man on the floor. His face was turned away but Carter could imagine a mixture of fear and anger there when he spoke.

"No. No  _way,_ Steven, you can't just-"

"Move, Hank." His voice was resigned, almost weary, but Hank shook his head.

"You've got no way of knowin'!"

"And neither do you. You heard him, he doesn't  _know_. If there's a chance he's not immune-"

"But if there's a chance he  _is,_ you just gonna kill him without findin' out?"

"We don't have much of a choice, here."

"We've got a choice!" Hank's voice had risen and there was an underlying growl in it now. "We've always got a choice, Arthur!" The use of Steven's surname took Carter by surprise and he saw dark eyes widen slightly before narrowing again. "We choose to survive everyday; we choose to be complete imbeciles and keep goin' even though we've better odds of bein' killed than ever makin' it outta here alive. And you gotta choose this time." He jabbed a finger in Carter's direction without looking around. "You gotta choose whether to kill this kid because he  _might_ end up turnin' or givin' him a chance because he  _might not._ "

The room was quiet again. The only noticeable sound was that of heavy breathing. After a long pause, Steven glanced down at Carter before sighing. He released the hammer and shoved the pistol back into his pocket, turning away again.

"I'll give him until tomorrow," he muttered. "We can't take any chances with this." With the air of grave finality he retreated to the other room, letting the door swing shut behind him. Hank looked back down a moment later, a frown set in place as he examined the floor. It was a while before Carter risked speaking, barely trusting his voice to hold steady.

"Thanks, Hank…" The blonde man looked over at him quickly before shrugging and going to lean against the nearest wall.

"Just get better, alright? We need to get outta here." Carter nodded, letting his head sink back onto the rolled-up sweater. It smelled vaguely musty but definitely beat sleeping solely on concrete. Though the sun was coming in through the barred window, he felt another wave of exhaustion hit and he let his eyes close, listening as Hank began to pace the length of the room; he was obviously not comfortable standing still for very long.

Being swarmed by hoards of infected certainly had a grim reality about it, but the fact that there had only been one man between himself and a fully-loaded pistol didn't seem to be much more than some odd fantasy.  _Are you going to turn, Carter? Will you get a bullet through the brain just so these two can survive?_ The thought was morbid and he pushed it away quickly. He wasn't going to turn…he had to be immune. It wouldn't make sense that he had made it this long if he weren't. Besides, it didn't take this long for the infection to set in, did it? It had been almost twenty-four hours since he had been attacked. Surely something would've happened by now, _something_ to show that he was turning into some mindless zombie.

_Something_ would've happened…

It took the entire day for Carter to sit up, and even then he had to lean against the brick wall. According to Hank, the safe room they were in probably used to be part of some canning factory. None of them had even known the city had a canning factory; the building was very unremarkable, which was probably why someone had put the room there in the first place. It was tucked away down a rather narrow alley that would be simple to bottleneck any incoming attacks into. An ideal location for the place, but after being on the move constantly for so long it was easy to get tense when they were essentially trapped in one room.

The main room had become a sleeping quarters of sorts. Hank and Steven both kept their guns no more than a foot away when they slept and they had given Carter an extra pistol.

"Won't do much good with that crowbar if ya can't even stand," Hank had reasoned, and his logic was sound. Still, the younger man wasn't exactly great with guns. He had shot a rifle once when his dad had taken him hunting. Never went again after the recoil had knocked into his stomach and sent him stumbling into a thorn bush. It was a rather silly reason to dislike the things, but even now he wasn't eager to use one.

He was almost comfortable against the bricks for a while. The sun had already set and the overhead lights were buzzing again. Once Hank had helped change the bandages on his chest - swearing the entire time at their depleted lack of medical supplies - Carter had managed to tug on the sweater, grateful to have himself covered again. Modesty had long since abandoned them, but walking around without a shirt felt far to vulnerable for his liking. He let his head lean against the wall, light brown hair falling slightly into his face. Hank was busy cleaning his handgun and Steven sat across from the steel door, watching it carefully. The silence had stretched on for at least half an hour. It had taken Steven two hours to come back into the main room and he still hadn't spoken once. With a sigh, Carter carefully adjusted his left arm to ward off any loss of circulation before turning to Hank.

"You got any family, Hank?" The blonde man looked up from his gun, an eyebrow lifting.

"Family?"

"Relatives, children…anything?" It was less out of curiosity and more of a desire to break the silence, but learning a bit more about one of the men he was literally spending every waking minute with wouldn't hurt anything. He noticed Steven's stare break for a moment as he glanced their way, but it quickly went back to the door. Hank seemed to consider the question briefly.

"Had a sister," he said. "Brother-in-law. They lived in Missouri."  _Had?_ Odd that the simple use of a different tense could make an answer that much more burdening.

"What happened to them?" Hank sighed, looking back at his rag and wiping it over the gun's barrel.

"He was infected. She had to kill him; told me she was gonna get a car up here somehow. Didn't hear from her after that." Carter grunted sympathetically. Judging by the look on the other man's face, he was of the same opinion that there wasn't much use mourning at the moment. Once they were safe, flying from the city in some helicopter or something,  _then_ there could be sorrow spared for the world in general. Right now it was more about getting out alive. "What about you?"

"One brother. He's still… _was_ still living with my parents. I, uh…no idea what happened to them. Last time I heard from James was a month or so before the Flu hit." Hank nodded absently, reloading his gun with an obviously practiced hand. After a moment Carter chanced another question. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Don't ya know it's not polite to ask a man his age?"

"Thought that was women." Hank chuckled, shrugging.

"Ah, well. Thirty-six, goin' on twenty."

"Just turned twenty-nine myself." The blonde man snorted, smirking slightly.

"Knew ya were the baby of the family," he said, glancing quickly at Steven. "You're what, Steven, thirty?" Dark eyes turned toward them, a rather preoccupied look on his face.

"Thirty-two." Carter raised his eyebrows at the black-haired man, but the look went unnoticed and Steven turned his attention back to the door. It seemed almost ironic that the youngest of the group was constantly called 'kid' by someone only three years older than him, but that wasn't too important at the moment. At least Steven was no longer fingering his gun like he had been for a while. He seemed resigned to wait it out, whatever 'it' happened to be.

"You hungry?" Hank was getting to his feet, handgun tucked back in his pocket. Carter blinked once before shrugging.

"A bit, yeah." They were rationing the food the best they could, but Hank insisted that the injured man actually eat decent portions in order to keep his strength up. "Some fruit would be fine."

"Steven? Ya want anythin'?" A short shake of the head was the only answer and Hank gave a nod, striding into the back room where the majority of the supplies were kept. It was silent again and Carter let his head lean against the wall, his right hand resting in the pocket of the hoodie. After a minute or so he glanced over at Steven who hadn't moved his gaze since he had spoken. It was somewhat nerve-wracking, sitting alone in a room with a man who had been all for killing him some hours ago. _Stupid Stalker…_

The worst part was knowing that the thing was still out there. They hadn't killed it; a shot to the shoulder wouldn't fell a common, and it seemed like the Stalker was far more…developed than any normal infected. It was probably already hunting again, perhaps even searching for the prey that had gotten away. Carter barely managed to contain a cough as it rose, knowing the pain in his chest would only magnify if it got loose. It was still too quiet for his liking and he looked back at the other man.

"Steven?" A short grunt to show he was listening. It was better than nothing. "I'm…I'm not going to turn, alright?" After a pause, Steven looked over again, and Carter noticed him absently rubbing his ring finger where a slight tan-line stood out even among the rest of the dirt. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was very slightly strained as he spoke, nearly too soft to hear.

"Katie said the same thing."


	3. The Supply Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it is discovered that snow globes can be used as melee weapons.

It took three days for Carter to manage walking again, and they all figured that was about as good as they were going to get. He had been able to move around sooner, but Steven didn't want to risk them not making it to a safe house at night. Once he could manage a quick walk without doubling over, it was a unanimous decision to move out. A lot of it was due to the fact that all of them got easily tense when they couldn't be on the move.

It might be a slower pace than before, but it was far better than staying cooped up in the same room for much longer. Steven was speaking again, although he hadn't mentioned Katie since bringing the name up in the safe room. Though no one mentioned it, Carter could tell the other two were surprised at how quickly he had healed. The slashes across his chest were still painful but they wouldn't break open if he twisted too far. They had managed to ward off any infection in every cut but his hand. There the wound was still swollen and throbbed continuously; Carter assumed the diseased spit of the Stalker probably aggravated something or other. An immunity to the disease didn't guarantee an immunity to normal bacteria. That hand remained wrapped and he was grateful that he wasn't left-handed. It had taken a bit of practice to successfully wield his crowbar with one hand, and though the weight prevented him from using it for extended periods of time, he could at least hold his own against an attack.

They city hadn't changed much since they had left it for the safety of that brick room. Various moans and screeches still echoed around the buildings. Carter kept an ever-paranoid ear listening for the predatory shriek of that light-blue blur. He would never have expected an infected to search for the prey that had escaped, but that was before he had seen the thing grinning as it sliced at him, shadowed eyes glinting with the thrill of its kill…

He shook his head to clear it of the thought, wincing at the throbbing headache that it exacerbated and turning his focus to his hand for a moment. Though the initial bite hurt the most, it seemed like his fingers were getting the remainder of the pain. They felt rather like someone was purposefully crushing them between a door, but taking their sweet time with it. Come to think of it, even his right hand was rather sore…but that had to be from suddenly using it for  _everything._  Other than the expected soreness of his cuts and a headache that had appeared the previous night, he felt fine.

"Got a store up ahead," Hank called back quietly, shaking Carter out of his brooding. "Doesn't look too bad." That, of course, wasn't very assuring. The stores were either fairly safe and completely looted or surrounded by zombies with a decent amount of goods. Not exactly a win-win situation.

"How many, do you think?" Steven muttered, peering around the corner.

"Maybe ten outside. No tellin' how many are sulkin' around in there."

"You call that 'not too bad'?" Hank chuckled softly, shrugging.

"I've seen worse," he defended. "You shoulda seen Walgreens." Carter joined them at the wall, leaning out to get a better look at the small corner store. The sign had fallen and every window was smashed. He squinted at it, frowning slightly at the sight of shuffling figures in the interior shadows.

"Looks like at least five inside," he told the others. "At least that I can see. There could be more further back…" Trailing off, he coughed twice into his elbow, wincing as it sent a stab of pain spiking through his chest. He didn't actually mind the sweater at that point, as his old shirt would have been crusted with various dried blood, grime, and filth. This was at least reasonably clean still. His companions glanced at him quickly but didn't comment, turning their attention back to the building.

"Think it's worth it?" Steven asked, rubbing his gun's barrel idly. Hank considered the area carefully, brow furrowed before he grunted.

"We can go around. Avoid the crowd at the front and slip in the back door. Carter can take out the ones inside more quietly than us with the guns, so we may not even alert 'em. If we do, at least there's somethin' to our backs." They considered it for a moment before shrugging in near-unison.

"Worth a shot," Carter agreed, lifting his crowbar to rest on his shoulder. Steven simply nodded and they turned the corner onto the sidewalk, keeping a careful watch on the milling infected across the street. None of them seemed to notice the small band of survivors lurking in the shadows, and that wasn't something they were complaining about. A sudden screeching made all three jump, but they managed to relax slightly as they spotted two zombies suddenly decide to attack each other while a few others stood by as if watching some sporting event. After a minute or so one of them collapsed and the other shrieked its victory before returning to its shuffling.

_And what did he do for a living before the Flu hit?_ Carter found himself musing before he pushed the thought away. That didn't matter anymore. Perhaps they were normal people before, but now they were normal zombies who wouldn't hesitate to tear any survivor to shreds.

It took them at least three times longer to get around the store than it would have in normal circumstances. Carter took the lead, his weapon poised to take out any stray infected that might give away their position. Guns were far more efficient, but the sound of one going off would alert anything nearby. They got to the back door without any incident, however, and Steven examined it carefully.

"Alarmed?" Carter asked quietly, and the other man shook his head.

"Supply door. Should be alright." He picked up the padlock that held it shut before stepping aside and gesturing to Carter. "You have the honors." The crowbar made short work of the lock, though they all winced at the sound of metal on metal before shoving the door open. A single figure in the shadows looked around with what could've once been a "Huh?" before the sharp crack of steel to skull cut it off and it crumpled. The three ducked inside quickly, swinging the door shut behind them and cutting off almost all of the light.

"There's a door that leads to the bathroom hallway," Hank hissed. "Should be on the left past some shelves." Carter hadn't even noticed the shelves at first, but his eyes were adjusting to the dark quickly and their shapes loomed up in front of him.

"How do you know that?" Steven muttered, and Hank almost laughed.

"Worked here in college. Can't tell ya how many times I swept these floors."

"Have to wait a second, anyway," the black-haired man said. "I can't see a thing and I'd rather not start knocking things over." Carter glanced at him a bit curiously, blinking once.

"You can't see them?" he asked, gesturing at the shelves with various boxes stacked on them. Steven looked over, though he seemed to be peering about three feet to the left.

"Too dark. It's-" He cut off, frowning and turned in Carter's general direction. "Can  _you_ see them?"

"Yeah, they're about five feet in front of you…"

"Quiet." They both fell silent at Hank's command, Steven blinking quickly as he tried to see past the darkness. The boxes had been muffling their voices, but apparently something had been close enough to hear and curious enough to investigate. A soft shuffling and grunting was making its way down one of the rows and two guns lifted impulsively. Carter stepped to one side, glancing down the row nearest to him before turning to peer past his companions. Steven was, of course, standing directly in front of the approaching infected, though his gun was still pointing toward a box labeled 'mop heads'. Though the intruder wasn't moving quickly, it was definitely headed toward them. Apparently this one didn't have eyesight any better than Steven's, or it would have been rushing at them already.

If one of them managed to shoot it, it would be a dead giveaway to anything else in the store. It would be far easier to just take it down with the crowbar. Sighing softly, Carter slipped up to the shelf, whispering a quick "Don't shoot me," to the taller man in case he felt any sudden urge to whip that gun around. Another few steps and he swung with a slight grunt, hitting the zombie square in the neck and stepping back as a decent amount of blood and other unidentifiable fluids went airborne. The young man winced as he felt his cuts pull at the sudden movement but kept his eye on his target. It fell with a  _thud_ just as Hank and Steven looked around.

"Nice one, kid," Hank muttered, glancing down at the still figure before slipping carefully past it toward the far end of the storage room. "It's out here." They ducked through a swinging door into a short hallway. The bathroom door was broken down and there was a long smear of blood on the wall inside just visible in the slightly-brighter light. Carter looked away quickly, not bothering to imagine what had happened to whoever attempted to barricade themselves in there.

The store had been looted, of course - all of them had to some degree - but there was actually still things on the shelves along with a few boxes on the floor. Typically, half of the floor was covered in dirt, blood, and various kinds of grime, but it only seemed to reach the first shelf levels and those were already empty. Hank glanced around before nodding to the others, gesturing at individual rows as a cue to split up. They could hear the infected in the front of the store growling and staggering around, but they didn't seem too interested in the back.

Each survivor claimed a row, walking down it slowly as they scanned for anything useful. Carter managed to snag an unopened can of peanut-butter that had been shoved behind some napkins and he stuffed it into the pocket of his hoodie.  _We'll need bags…_ Hank was the only one with a backpack and it was mostly used for medical supplies and extra ammo. He glanced around quickly in search of some carrying container nearby, but went back to the shelves when there was none to be found. A small box of basic band-aids and one can of microwavable ravioli joined the peanut butter and he vaguely wondered if the store had ever been organized in a way that made sense.

The next aisle proved to be more helpful. He actually found a backpack, and though it bore the all-too-happy face of some cartoon character he felt like he should remember, it was big enough to hold a decent amount of supplies. Carter leaned his crowbar against the end of the shelf, moving to the middle of the row and kneeling to grab the bag. He had to hold it between his knees in order to unzip the thing, as his left hand wasn't worth a whole lot at the moment. He shoved his gathered supplies into the main pocket, pausing at the soft sound of footsteps. Hank and Steven were nearby, but paranoia won over and he looked toward the end of the aisle cautiously.

The paranoia was warranted. He could see one mangled shoe and a grimy leg of what was probably once a business suit. Whatever it happened to be, it was certainly neither of the men he was with. Of course -  _stupid, Carter -_ he had left his only weapon at the end of the shelf. Right where the infected was now standing. It hadn't noticed him yet, but it was making curious-sounding grunts and apparently examining the crowbar that it had found. Carter got to his feet slowly, careful not to aggravate his wounds, and moved toward the grunting slowly. That thing was interested in his crowbar. Maybe because it was shiny, or perhaps it was the smell of disease-free humans on it, but it had definitely taken an interest in the piece of metal. For some reason he felt a brief surge of possessiveness bubble up, but that was overpowered by an odd, unexplained anger.

_Mine._ It was only one thought, but it seemed to propel him forward. Carter grabbed the nearest hard object he could - some sort of snow globe - and covered the last few feet quickly. The glass didn't shatter on first impact with the head, but as he went after the infected when it staggered back it cracked and sent a small burst of water and plastic 'snow' over the almost-surprised face. The man dropped the snow globe and snatched up his crowbar again, swinging it at the zombie fiercely. His pulse had spiked and he fought to keep his breathing fairly normal, hitting the thing again for good measure as it collapsed. Oddly-tinged blood was pooling on the floor and Carter found himself staring at it before shaking his head quickly, cringing at the headache that still twinged there.

The anger had vanished as quickly as it had come and he was left panting slightly, his hoodie now speckled with drops of blood. A few rows down, Hank stepped out briefly to raise a brow in his direction and Carter nodded toward the dead zombie at his feet with a shrug. He turned away from the blonde man quickly, bandaged hand going to his head as he fought to push the headache back. They had yet to alert the crowd near the front of the store, but they might have to if they couldn't get many supplies back here. Retrieving his backpack, he swung it onto his right shoulder, ignoring the stabs of pain as he had to twist to get the other arm through.

The store was small and the back area didn't take too long to comb through. By some unspoken agreement, the survivors met in the far corner next to the fridge that used to hold milk - now there were multiple piles of congealed dairy products. The rancid smell was already distinct in that corner and Carter was glad the doors were close. It was bad enough just squeezing through the cracks. He wrinkled his nose slightly before pushing it to the back of his mind.

"Nice backpack," Steven commented with a smirk, and Carter shrugged.

"Always wanted one just like it," he replied. "I've still got room if you wanted to drop anything in." He could distinguish a few packages of chips and one bag of beef jerky among the things that joined the rest of the various items in the bag and Steven zipped it up again, pulling his gun from his pocket.

"What's the plan?" Hank had been peering over a shelf toward the front and turned back to them with a small frown.

"Depends. We can probably hold out with what we got, but there's always the chance of findin' more stuff up front…we'd have to fight through that lot up there, of course."

"I'm up for it." They glanced at Carter curiously and he blinked once before shrugging. "There's not too many and they're not exactly brilliant. None of them have even noticed us yet."

"I'd like to keep it that way," Steven muttered. "Better safe than sorry, right? We've got enough to get to the next safe room, I think. Might as well move out while we still can." They both looked at Hank who seemed unused to having the deciding vote. He finally sighed, hefting his own backpack further onto his shoulders.

"Better safe than sorry," he agreed. "Let's go." He turned back toward the rear entrance, Steven following closely. Carter paused, looking back at the front door where the infected were still milling around. He wondered vaguely what exactly they  _did_ all day. Any that he had seen didn't seem to do much but shuffle around muttering to themselves and occasionally getting into fights. The only time they really looked engaged was when they spotted potential prey.

"C'mon, kid, or I'm leaving you behind." He glanced around at Steven's voice and followed the other two into the back room again. The young man had to fight a sudden urge to turn around and walk straight to the front of that store, swing his crowbar into a few of the infected's heads, watch them crumple…He shook his own head quickly, once again wincing at the throbbing that persisted and ducked out into the evening air. Hank nodded down a side alley toward a spray-painted red house and an arrow pointing down the street. Though he hadn't seen the signs leading to their last resting place, it was fairly obvious what they meant. With a grim determination, the three set off again.

Carter still had to rest occasionally; he found himself short of breath faster than he had before getting shredded, but that was to be expected. Neither of the others complained though they glanced around the area warily when they had to stop. The one time he had muttered an apology, Steven simply waved it away and shot him a quick look.

"Doesn't matter. As long as you're not trying to take my throat out, I don't care." The black-haired man seemed to have finally accepted the fact that Carter wasn't some shuffling and groaning zombie, though he still raised a brow anytime a brief coughing fit would come along. The constant paranoia wasn't unwarranted, but it would almost make Carter nervous every time he caught one of those glances.

_You're fine, idiot,_ he growled to himself.  _It's been three days. Nothing's happened and nothing is_ going  _to happen._ He flexed his right hand idly, trying to relieve the stiffness that had appeared there. Besides, a headache and a cough weren't exactly symptoms of the Green Flu. He had yet to start puking or mumbling incoherently or attacking his companions. They were still able to move at a fairly steady pace through the city. The evacuation center, of course, was in the suburbs past the general downtown area. Apparently the Army had set it up on a large soccer field behind the junior high school. Hank estimated, at their rate, it might take a few more days to get there. They had no way of knowing whether the Army was still there or not, but there weren't exactly many other options.

He earned another glance from Steven as another short bout of coughs emerged and the younger man pressed his left hand to his chest in an effort to dull the stab of pain. Perhaps the Stalker had cracked a rib or something on impact…The bite mark throbbed in protest at the pressure and he let it fall again with a slight sigh. Knowing his luck they would have to get the hand amputated or something once they got with decent doctors. There was no telling what kind of bacteria resided in the wound now, and they only had a tube of some sort of antibacterial cream to try and fight it with.

_Pain. Painbadneedtostop…_

_What?_ He shook his head once, blinking as the muddled thought faded again.  _Keep it together, Carter; Steven already thinks you're insane. It does no good proving it to him._

He hadn't noticed the overhead clouds until the first few drops of rain began to fall. Glancing up, the young man winced when one managed to land in his eye and he wiped at it quickly.

"Just what we need," Hank growled, hunching over slightly to cover his gun. "That safe room better be close." He glanced behind him at the other two and nodded to Carter. "You're lucky, havin' that hood." Right, he actually had a hood…Carter considered flipping it up, but the image of eyes glinting out from beneath the shadows of a similar hood held him back and he shrugged.

"I'm good. Maybe it'll get my hair clean for once." The blonde man grunted, wiping water out of his eyes even as the rain fell more quickly. Steven paused in order to fall in step beside Carter, glancing at him quickly.

"We'll have to change that bandage when we get there," he muttered, nodding at the wrapped hand. "Still hurting, is it?"

"Somewhat. I figure having a Stalker try to gnaw it off wasn't exactly the best thing to happen to it." Steven blinked, one eyebrow lifting.

"'Stalker', huh? Is that what it's called?" Carter chuckled, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug.

"It's what I'm callin' it. That's what it does, at any rate. I figure it's better than 'pouncer' or something. Much better than having to scream 'it's that weird hooded thing that enjoys ripping my stomach open' when we see it again." The taller man managed a grin, shaking his head.

"Touché, kid." He clapped his free hand on Carter's should briefly. "I'm just glad you're alright." As Steven lengthened his stride to catch up to Hank, Carter glanced down at his right hand. Tightening his grip on the crowbar quickly did nothing to alleviate the stiffness and he frowned.

"Me too…"


	4. The Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the survivors meet people who don't froth at the mouth.

The headache had grown worse. He was careful not to let it show anymore, keeping the wincing to a minimum. It had been five days since the Stalker attack and it seemed that his bout of good luck had evaporated. His head hurt constantly, the throbbing in his left hand seemed to have spread to his right and now the aching had spread to everywhere else. Steven could tell, too; the black-haired man's slight optimism had vanished within a few hours and he was watching Carter with slightly narrowed eyes again.

The safe rooms were spread thin in the part of the city they were traveling and the group had come to a unanimous decision to take advantage of whatever one they came across. Night had fallen by the time they found one on the fifth day and the infected seemed to be making a sport out of blocking their path in. Hank and Steven had to both push the door shut against the fresh swarm that had just arrived and they practically threw the metal bar in place before leaning against the wall and panting.

"Everyone good?" Hank asked, one hand attempting to wipe the majority of the grime off of his face while avoiding a large gash across his right cheek that certainly hadn't been there before. There were two muttered affirmatives and the three let themselves catch their breaths for the first time in a few hours before turning to examine the room they had barged into. It was fairly bare as far as the average safe room went, though there were two cots shoved up into one corner with a rather large pile of musty blankets thrown onto one of them. The normal bottles of water were stacked in a cardboard box and there was some canned food next to it. Steven stepped down a small hallway to their left and grunted.

"Another door in this one. Looks like it goes out back."

"Locked, right?" The taller man nodded as he came back, letting his bag drop to the floor unceremoniously and sinking onto one of the cots.

"We should be good," he muttered. "Head out again in the morning." With a practiced hand he began taking apart his gun, carefully cleaning each piece before laying it next to him. Carter slid to the floor, eyes closing as Hank double-checked the steel door before claiming the other cot and throwing his backpack onto it with a sigh.

"Now we just need to do that the entire way across town," he grumbled, shooting a glare towards the world in general. "I could end up sleepin' for a few weeks. Wake me up if they find a cure, would ya?" He stretched out, not bothering to look for a pillow of any sort, and closed his eyes against the overhead light's glare. After a few minutes of quiet, Carter could feel a piercing gaze on him and glanced up at Steven with a raised brow.

"What was up with that, kid?" He was certainly one to get to the point…the younger man blinked once, shifting to sit up a little straighter.

"What do you mean?"

"I know you prefer melee weapons to guns, but I didn't think fists really counted as weapons." Carter glanced down at his bandaged hand with a small wince, recalling the sharp stab of pain up his arm as he had punched a nearby infected in the jaw. It had worked, apparently, as Hank had then shot the thing down with a bullet to the head, but there was still no clue as to where the sudden move had come from. His crowbar had been in his hand, even poised to attack, but it had suddenly felt far more…satisfying to feel the bone give way under his own swing. A moment later, of course, the burst of pain had cleared any momentary satisfaction away quickly and left him wondering where on earth an idiotic idea like that had sprung from.

"Instinct," he finally said with a shrug. "Didn't really have time to think about it." Steven frowned at him a few moments longer before grunting and returning to his gun. It fell silent and Hank appeared to be sleeping already - a far better thing to do inside than out on the street, of course - as Steven reassembled his weapon and gave it one final glance over before laying it on the floor next to him. He threw the pile of blankets to one side, only keeping one to use as a pillow, and let himself lay back with a sigh.

Carter allowed himself to stay in one spot for at least ten minutes before he stood and shut off the lights, leaving only the spotlight outside the door for illumination. Despite taking the majority of the day to travel about eight blocks, he didn't share in the other's weariness. It seemed odd, as none of them had gotten a decent night's rest in over a week, but while Hank and Steven were able to sleep on the first slightly soft surface they came across, he found himself struggling to stay still. Perhaps the persistent headache was partly to blame for that, but it was enough of a struggle to seat himself across from the steel door and take the first watch. They didn't even really need a watch - the steel doors of the safe rooms had managed to hold up to an entire horde once - but it was enough of an excuse not to try to sleep.

The night was louder than usual. Groups of infected ran by growling and letting out the occasional screech as if they were desperately late for something. Carter didn't pay them much mind until the faint noise of gunfire joined the chaos and he sat up quickly, green eyes narrowing. The Army was supposed to be outside of town; they hadn't seen more than a single helicopter fly over in the last week. There didn't seem to be very many people wielding the guns. A person could carry two pistols but it was doubtful that the shotgun blasts and chatter of a sub-machine gun could belong to less than two people. He would guess five at the most, if each person only carried one weapon. After a moment's hesitation, the young man pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room to shake Hank's shoulder quickly. A muffled grunt was the only response at first before bleary eyes blinked open to peer up at the person who intruded on his sleep.

"Whussit…?"

"Guns. At least five." Hank was awake at the mention of 'guns' and was on his feet a split second afterwards, his own handgun at the ready.

"Way we came?" Carter nodded, joining the bigger man at the door and they peered into the dark street for a minute or so before Hank frowned. "How long ago you hear it?"

"How long-I hear them now." He glanced over curiously, receiving an incredulous look in return.

"I'm not hearin' anythin', kid." There was a slight pause before the other man grunted. "Nah, there was one…shotgun, maybe." That particular blast had practically echoed in Carter's head and he blinked.

"Just the shotgun?"

"Yeah, unless…nah, that might be somethin' else. They're comin' closer." He peered down at Carter curiously. "How were you hearin' that so far back?" How _could_ he have heard it? The shots sounded like they were no more than a block away to him, yet Hank had to listen for them and Steven was still sound asleep.

"I don't….I'm not sure." They fell silent again, both listening to the sharp cracks of guns and Carter once picked out a voice shouting over the noise, though it wasn't coherent at that distance. After a while he glanced toward Steven, vaguely considering waking him before he thought better of it. The man was tense under normal circumstances; anyone who startled him in the middle of the night might end up getting part of their arm shot off. "Is it military, do you think?" Hank shook his head, leaning against the door in an effort to listen. Considering the empty window, that was usually a bad idea, but none of the infected were paying attention to the safe room. They all seemed perfectly intent on getting to the sound of gunfire as quickly as possible.

"Not enough of 'em. Might be other survivors. Might be some CEDA agents. No tellin'. Either way they're gettin' a lot of attention." After another few minutes he turned away from the door again and crossed to the opposite wall, sliding to the floor. "Whoever they are, they better be near dead…woke me up." Carter snorted, staring out into the night for another moment before joining his companion and propping his chin on his knees.

"Won't be surprised. Anyone stuck out there is near dead."

The sounds from outside were the only real noises for a while and judging by Hank's heavy breathing, he had dozed off against the wall. The younger man leaned his head back, staring up at the cement ceiling before closing his eyes in an attempt to get some amount of sleep before morning. The gunshots weren't getting any quieter and they only aggravated his headache even more than usual. As usual when he sat still, the aches seemed more pronounced and the bite mark on his hand began throbbing again. Sleep never really came, but he found himself sinking into what was almost a lucid dream. There were no real details in it and the only thing that really stuck out was the constant smell of blood, both dried and fresh.

" _It doesn't look open…light's still on, think someone's already in there?"_

" _Great, that's just what we need. C'mon, Overalls, keep it up; it's just ahead."_ The voices managed to penetrate his wandering mind and Carter blinked once, sitting up to look around quickly. Hank was asleep, handgun lying on the floor under his hand. Steven had apparently never woken up and was still out cold on the cot. Who had been speaking, then…?

"Hope they have an extra health-pack in there; all I've got left in mine is a pair of gloves."

"I'm sure they'll come in handy if we ever need to make a balloon to entertain the zombies with."

"Keep your voices down; you want another horde?" They were outside. Great. Four sets of footsteps crunched over the gravel outside of the safe room, though one sounded slightly uneven as if the person were limping.

_Injuredgood. Verygoodeasycatch,easykill…_

He shook his head once and the thought slipped away again as the young man put a hand to his head with a wince. Even having heard the approach, the sudden sound of the door being pushed on startled him and the loud pounding wasn't much better. Hank jerked awake with a grunt and, judging by the loud _thump_ and eloquent curse, Steven had toppled onto the floor. All three were on their feet in the next second, two guns leveled at the door.

"Someone in there?" A woman's voice. Carter could just see a red shirt though the small window. "We're-"

"Unlock the damn door!" Gruff, loud, and definitely a man. Red-shirt was moved to the side and part of a face appeared in its place, glaring through to the interior of the room.

"You survivors?" Steven spoke up at Carter's left, his voice still a bit rough. The younger man heard a slight scuffle and the face in the window vanished again.

"If you get us shot, I'm gonna kill you," the woman hissed. He could safely assume the threat was directed toward her companion and she raised her voice again. "Yeah, four of us. We've got one injured; we just need to rest up for a while." A slight hesitation before Steven spoke up again.

"Are you immune?" The gruff man snorted with an 'Oh, come on!' before he was hushed again.

"Don't think we'd be alive if we weren't." The three exchanged glances before the black-haired man nodded curtly and Hank lifted the bar, pulling the door open. The four slipped in quickly, what looked to be the youngest supported by a large black man. Hank kept his gun lifted, scanning the street quickly before he closed the door again and secured it, flipping on the overhead light as he turned back.

It was definitely a mismatched looking bunch. One black woman with her hair in a messy ponytail - the owner of the red shirt - and a large black man who looked to be just exiting his prime. The young man he lowered onto the closest cot couldn't have been older than Carter. He had somehow managed to keep what looked to be a mechanic's hat perched on his head and now sported a large gash down his right leg. The remaining one, most likely the one to have shouted, was sizing up the other three survivors carefully. He had a white suit on - or, at least, it used to be white - and a suspicious glare to rival even Steven's. He held two guns; a magnum and something that may have been a sniper rifle, but the rifle was soon set on the cot and the injured man looked up with a grateful nod.

"You're the ones that've been ahead of us, are you?" White-suit muttered, arms crossing. "What, you couldn't have cleared out some of that horde for us before you got here?"

"Nick, shut up." The woman looked around at him with a slight glare as if she were used to this kind of thing before offering a weary smile at the others. "He gets a bit grumpy when he's tired. Or hungry. Or…well, awake." Nick made a face at her briefly before turning away and going to kneel beside the cot, tugging a first-aid kit off of his back.

"Gotcha pretty bad, huh, kid?" His voice had lowered and most likely wasn't meant to be heard by the three they had barged in on, but Carter angled his head very slightly to pick it up better. The injured man snorted, waving off the offered pain-killers.

"It'll take more than one of them freaks to get me outta the game," he stated firmly.

"Yeah, well that was more like seven of 'them freaks', so…" Nick handed his companion a roll of gauze and dug around in the small red bag again. "How the hell are you still alive?" The question was met with a nonchalant shrug as the Southerner - his accent was thick, even at a mumble - began wrapping his leg quickly.

"You gotta have someone who knows cars, right?"

"Because that's come in handy a total of once…"

"Carter?" The young man blinked once, looking around quickly to see Hank watching him with a raised brow. "You zonin' out, kid?"

"Oh, uh…yeah, sorta." He turned his attention off of the men across the room and managed a slight grin for the woman that was still standing nearby. "Sorry, I'm…name's Carter." She nodded and he noticed that no one had offered a handshake. General paranoia in a world overrun with disease, most likely.

"Rochelle. The jerk over there," she gestured at the suited man vaguely, "is Nick. Limping one is Ellis and the big guy is Coach." Ellis and Coach both looked around at the sound of their names, though Nick kept his back firmly turned. Neither Hank nor Steven gave names; Carter figured he had missed their initial introduction.

"Where're ya headed?" Hank inquired, stepping instinctively away from the door as an arm reached through rather hopefully. Steven shot into the night, getting a rather satisfied look as a sharp squeal confirmed he had hit his target. The gun was even louder in an enclosed room and Carter flinched as it rang in his already-painful head, but no one else paid much mind.

"New Orleans," Rochelle told him. "One of the last places, from what we've heard." The blonde man's eyes widened and he gave a low whistle.

"That far? Where'd ya start out, then?"

"Savannah." It was Coach that answered that time; the black man had set his gear in a small pile in one corner and crossed the room to stand beside his companion. "Met up when the evacuation there fell through. All but given up on Army evac stations at this point; they end up fallin' back faster than anyone can get there." The other three exchanged a quick glance at that. A small stab of worry wormed its way into Carter's chest and he wasn't surprised when Steven voiced the same concern;

"What about the school? I heard the announcement about a week ago…"

"School's overrun." They looked around at Nick, who had apparently been listening to the conversation the whole time. He was leaning against the end of the empty cot, cleaning the magnum in his hands and pointedly avoiding everyone's eyes. "They're a bunch of idiots if they think they can hold out a place like that. There won't be anything left."

"It's the damn Army!" Hank exclaimed, glancing between the other new survivors as if hoping one of them would contradict Nick. "They're supposed to be the one gettin' everyone out, and you're tellin' me they're givin' up?"

"They're not giving up," The white-suited man looked up, green eyes narrowed, "though I bet half of them would…they're being slaughtered. Don't know when to fight and when to turn tail and run." There was a sharp _click_ as he reloaded the gun and lay it on the floor beside him. "Everyone's being slaughtered, for that matter. If you decide to be all 'strength and nobility', you're torn to shreds. If you've got a few brain cells and spend most of your time getting the hell out of there, you might make it through the day."

"The Army's strong," Coach told them. His tone of voice suggested that he was making an attempt to smooth over the other man's blunt take on things. "They've got gunpower, but the infected got numbers. Ya blast a few hundred away, a few thousand take their place. There's a reason people don't stay in safe houses; it's only a matter of time before ya run out of supplies and there's _still_ gonna be zombies out there."

"They get slaughtered."

"Thank you, Nick."

There was a fairly heavy silence before Steven sighed, one hand rubbing the back of his head.

"We'll still check it out. It's the only real plan so far." Coach shrugged.

"All the luck to ya. I hope they're still there, really. There's just a good chance you're gonna end up findin' a place crawlin' with infected and no Army left other than the few that got infected themselves." He glanced at Rochelle as she turned around and went to crouch beside Ellis. "We'll be outta here in a few hours. Just gotta rest up and wait 'till that kid can keep a decent pace."

"I can keep up now, Coach!" Ellis called over his shoulder, ruining the statement with a hiss of pain as Rochelle tightened the bandage on his leg. Coach ignored the claim, though his mouth twitched in what might have been a grin a month ago.

"Mind if he takes that cot for now? I wanna get goin' as soon as we can." Hank shook his head, looking over the young Southern boy quickly.

"Go ahead. We'll be fine." The black man nodded his thanks, departing from the conversation without another word and joining his companions around the makeshift beds.

"They're not going to shoot us in our sleep, are they?" Carter finally muttered. Hank seemed to almost laugh, but it came out choked.

"Nah, probably not. First other survivors I've seen, 'sides you guys." It was quiet for a while; the three men were silent and the other four kept their voices low as they discussed something or other. Steven glanced out the door once before sighing.

"I'll take watch. Doubt I could sleep now if I tried…survivors or not, I'll be happier when they move on. Hank, if you want to get some more rest you can. Carter," he turned a firm gaze onto the younger man, "you're sleeping."

"I don't need-"

"Don't give me that, kid. I haven't seen you actually sleep in two days. It won't make things easier for us if you collapse." It was true, technically. Sleep hadn't been easy to come by. The weird part was the fact he didn't seem to really _need_ it. The constant fighting and running would wear him out, but all it took was maybe an hour or so of being able to sit and he would be ready to go again. Judging by the look on the black-haired man's face, however, that excuse wouldn't do much good. He sighed, hands sinking into the pocket of his hoodie.

"Fine." It was hard to believe that Steven was only three years his senior sometimes. He didn't treat him like a kid - despite the nickname - but he had a way of getting people to listen. Despite Hank being the oldest of the three, they both often looked to Steven to make decisions when a good deal of rational thought was needed in a split second.

Carter tugged a fairly thick blanket out of the heap on the floor and brought it to the corner opposite to where the four newcomers were sitting. Spreading it out into what he hoped was a decent layer of padding between himself and the floor, he settled onto the multi-colored quilt with a slight wince when the movement pulled at his chest. His own companions had fallen silent again, sitting and staring at the red door. The others were still talking and, out of boredom more than anything else, Carter began trying to pick up what they were saying. His head began tilting very slightly in different directions and it seemed to almost be doing it on instinct alone. He ignored that thought, however, as he found an angle that seemed to amplify the conversation.

"-last time we ran into others?" Nick's voice was a low growl and Carter could imagine his expression even though he couldn't easily see it. "Nearly got my head blown off."

"That's because you almost shot him even _after_ he was talking." Rochelle seemed oddly patient with the man. It was hard to believe she had traveled with someone like him and kept that even, calm tone of voice. "We'll be fine. Not all of the other survivors are insane, you know."

"Yeah, that's what they'll tell you…" There was a pause before the suited man snorted. "Ellis, you put that thing on a layer thick. It's already bleeding through."

"I'm a mechanic, not a damn doctor," the Southerner defended himself. "S'not too bad, anyway. Stopped hurtin' a while ago."

"It's common sense; you want the blood _in_ you, not _outside_ you. If it comes through the bandages there's probably not enough of them." Ellis didn't seem aggravated at all by the other man; on the contrary, he suddenly laughed.

"Y'know, that reminds me of this one time me and my buddy Keith were out breakin' trees…it was Keith's idea, mind; didn't really have no point to it, he just liked breakin' branches and leavin' 'em there. Anyway, he starts tellin' me how he learned all this stuff about fixin' yourself up if ya get cut real bad in the wild so I says to him 'Prove it' and he goes and-"

"Ellis, sweetie, maybe another time?" Rochelle, again, with her seemingly endless patience. Judging by the underlying amusement in her voice, this was a rather common occurrence and Ellis replied with a casual "Okay." There was a soft snore in the silence - Coach appeared to have fallen asleep on the floor already - before Nick grunted.

"I'm staying up. Survivors or not, I'd rather live to see tomorrow somewhat tired than end up with a bullet in my head because one of them is paranoid."

"Your loss," Rochelle told him. Carter heard what was probably a first-aid kit being zipped up before she sighed, apparently making herself as comfortable as possible on the concrete. "We'll leave in the morning. Might as well take some advantage of this place while we can." It fell silent after that and the young man let his head rest fully on his good arm, forcing his eyes shut. Might as well _try_ to get some sleep. Even if his entire body protested against the idea of staying still this long, he still ached everywhere and the headache was becoming more of a migraine with time.

Sleep never came, but the odd half-lucid dreaming soon sank over his mind again. It was vivid enough to pick out actual details this time, though they faded quickly.

_He could see the hordes of infected milling about beneath him, stumbling into each other and groaning incoherently. A surge of unexplainable power swept over the young man as he observed them from his perch. They were weak, slow, clumsy…easy prey._

Badprey. Tastebad,yesverybadtaste. Notgoodbadprey.

_The infected faded and he was suddenly faced with an obscure figure. Some person, a stranger. He couldn't actually see their face, but they lacked the reek of disease. The clean smell was overrun with a basic, more primal one; fear. It was warranted, of course. Flesh tore easily under sharp claws, and the scent of blood seemed to overpower everything else. A flailing limb was useless in its attempt to ward off the blows and, on a close pass, teeth sank into the hand before it was ripped away again._

Of course, Carter didn't remember anything about it when he came back to reality.


	5. The Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a shirt is found and suspicion mounts

Though Ellis complained - fairly loudly - Coach insisted on waiting until morning to move out. They spent the extra time sifting through various backpacks and sorting out the bare necessities and discarding anything that would only add weight. Carter could hear them talking quietly across the room, though he didn't bother listening too closely. The blanket he was 'sleeping' on had ended up scrunching under him but he didn't particularly feel like getting up to fix it. It was fairly comfortable and as they weren't exactly rushing to leave, he let himself lay still even when the sunlight began filtering through the door.

It was only when he heard Steven get up from his seat against the wall to cross the room that he decided to pay attention to the conversation. The dark-haired man was more suspicious about the other four than Hank was, though he didn't rival Nick's outright distrust. It took a short time to angle his head correctly in order to pick up on the words rather than the sound - he didn't ponder when he had gotten proficient at figuring it out - and Coach seemed to have already answered whatever question Steven brought up.

"…can't waste too much time. Seems like they just multiply the longer we wait."

"You travel much at night?" A short silence as the large man either nodded or shook his head - the wall Carter was facing didn't give many answers - before speaking again.

"Don't make a whole lot of difference. Haven't found a time when there aren't zombies. Doubt they ever sleep, so we move whenever we can.""What's up with him?" Nick's voice cut in from where he still sat against the wall. Steven didn't answer immediately, and his hesitance told Carter exactly who they were talking about.

"He was…attacked about a week ago. Pretty bad; a Stalker got him."

"What the hell is a Stalker?" He had almost forgotten how blunt the suited man was and wasn't surprised when Steven's reply was obviously forced to remain calm.

"One of the infected. Wore some sort of hood and had some serious claws. It jumped him from a roof."

"Hunter." Rochelle entered the conversation and Carter could imagine her glaring at Nick as he snorted. It seemed to be her job to keep him from getting killed by the only people that weren't regularly attacking them. "We call them Hunters. I can see where you got the name, though."

"Carter thought it up. It followed us for some twenty minutes before attacking."

"They'll do that." The woman sighed softly before continuing. "Seems like he healed pretty quickly. Those things can be brutal."

"Wait a minute." Carter hadn't realized Hank was even awake. His voice was much nearer than the other's, still over by the door. "You keep sayin' 'they'. You sayin' there are more than just that one?" Nick gave a short, humorless laugh.

"'Just that one'? Don't I wish. The commons are the least of your worries. We must've run into more than two dozen of those damn things so far. They seem to love Ellis."

"S'not my fault," the young Southerner muttered. He still sounded half asleep. "I take the back and _everything_ seems to get me."

"Maybe you just smell funny…"

"We shot the one." Hank cut Nick off before the two men could start up again. "Steven got it in the shoulder, but it got away."

"Won't take that thing down with one bullet using anything less than a headshot. We've all been pounced by Hunters. Have to get 'em off fast if you want to keep your organs where they are." Steven sighed heavily.

"Didn't get him as bad as it could've. Just a few swipes to the chest and one bite on his hand. The kid's tougher than he looks."

"Good thing we're immune, right?" Rochelle's offhand comment was met by an almost-heavy silence before Hank chuckled.

"Tell me about it. I would've been infected five times over already otherwise." Carter heard a backpack zip and someone pushed themselves to their feet with a soft grunt.

"You ready to move, kid?" Nick asked and the cot creaked as Ellis shifted.

"Think so. Might limp a bit, but I can keep up." As if by some unspoken consensus, the other three stood as well and Carter finally pushed himself onto one elbow, turning to see them hefting their various bags and weapons. Ellis peered through his scope briefly before pulling a rag from his pocket and wiping off the lens. Nick was already at the door and light-colored eyes glanced down at the man on the floor quickly, narrowing before he turned away again.

"Good luck," Rochelle told them, looking between them before joining her companion who was now squinting into the still-dim sunlight. "Maybe we'll see you at a safe zone when this is all over." Steven nodded, arms crossed firmly across his chest.

"Maybe."

"Don't get killed out there," Hank added. "Population's already low enough as it is." The metal bar was lifted away from the door and the hinges protested as it was pulled open. Nick shot one zombie almost casually as the other three filed out, Ellis wincing very slightly as he put weight on his injured leg. The suited man turned back for a moment and looked down at Carter again, expression unreadable.

"Watch that one," he finally said, voice low. "Infection's different every time, especially after this long." He strode out into the alley, pulling the door shut behind him and Hank immediately replaced the bar, watching out the small window as the four survivors trudged away without a backwards glance. Carter swallowed quickly, chancing a look at Steven and regretting it as soon as he did. The man's eyes were narrowed and he was frowning at the far wall as if considering Nick's words carefully.

"We should head out soon." His voice didn't betray anything and the younger man let himself relax somewhat. At least he wasn't about to be shot on the spot. Carter wondered what, exactly, had made Nick suspicious of him in the first place. Maybe it had been the hesitance when they had mentioned immunity, or perhaps he was suspicious of everything to begin with. Managing a nod, the young man pushed himself to his feet and shoved the blanket into a corner. It's not like they were getting an inspection for the place, anyway.

He had never actually slept. Every noise would pull him out of his somewhat-lucid dreaming and he would be on edge immediately, ready to either flee or attack. Nevertheless, Carter felt as rested as if he had managed a full-night's sleep in some five-star hotel rather than on a cold, concrete floor with zombies shuffling past outside. The others were picking through what little supplies were left in the room and Hank stuffed as many water bottles as he could fit into his bag. Steven flipped over a few boxes of what appeared to be extra ammo, cursing quietly and tossing them back when they proved to fit none of their guns. That was one of the advantages to a crowbar that had become apparent very quickly; there was no need to find the correct bullets for it. As long as it was intact, it worked just fine.

Carter grabbed his own bag from the floor, peering at the cartoon character on the front of it for a moment before swinging it onto his shoulder. The cut on his arm twinged slightly at the movement but he had gotten good at ignoring such things. The only wound that really hurt was his hand, with that stupid bite…

It took them almost five minutes to get out again. They considered trying the back door, but Hank pointed out that whatever way the other survivors had gone was sure to have somewhat fewer zombies. It would help to have someone in front of them, taking out some of the swarms. They would have to skirt around a few blocks to get back on course to the school, but it would be faster than plowing their way through hordes.

Hank and Steven took to the front, as usual, while Carter covered their backs. He kept his eyes scanning the way they had come, using the sounds of footsteps and occasional gunfire to stay with the others. After a while they began talking quietly, and he automatically quickened his pace in an effort to hear them.

"He had a point, Hank." Steven kept his gun sweeping the area in front of them while he spoke, finger hovering over the trigger. "You can't deny that."

"Alright, so maybe he did. Honestly, though, you see anythin' that screams 'infection' on that kid?" That seemed to be everyone's favorite topic recently. Carter grimaced, half tempted to speak up and assure them that he _wasn't_ turning into some zombie any time soon.

"Nothing's screaming," Steven said. "But there's some definite muttering. You told me he heard the gunshots way before you, right?"

"Well, yeah, but what does that-"

"And he managed to take down an infected with a punch. How many people can do that?"

"It did get back up again…"

"With a broken jaw." The dark-haired man sighed heavily, pausing as they reached a corner to peer around it. "I'm not happy about it, Hank. It near kills me to think of it, but the kid isn't like himself. He doesn't sleep, he goes without water way longer than we do…"

"He's _aware,_ Steven. That's what matters." Hank stopped for a moment to shoot a zombie that was ambling up the street before continuing. "How many zombies you see that can carry on a conversation or go a few seconds without tryin' to kill us?"

"How long will that last?" There was a silence, broken only by distant gunfire - Carter wondered vaguely if the others could even hear it. "Some people turn slower than others do. Nick was right about that, it's different for everyone."

"But after a week? He healed, he got back up and we kept goin'. Wouldn't he be writhin' on the floor by now? The virus doesn't have a long incubation period." Steven sighed again, shaking his head.

"I don't know, Hank…That's the point. We don't _know._ I'm praying he's fine, that he's immune, but we can't take chances. Survival is all that really matters at this point."

"And if survival means eliminatin' people just because of some hunch?" Hank's voice was a near growl at that point and Steven took the hint, falling silent again.

 _You're fine, Carter,_ the young man assured himself firmly. _You'd know if you weren't. You'd be able to tell._ It didn't stop a pulse of fear to pass through him quickly and he swallowed, nearly running into Hank when the others stopped short. Following their gaze, he frowned at a fire escape overhead. There was something fluttering on the second story like a makeshift flag.

"Anyone up there?" Hank called, his gun lifting as if preparing for some zombie to come plowing over the edge. They were met with silence and all three were frowning now. There were bullet holes peppering the ground at their feet as if someone had been defending a little 'fort' up on the fire escape. Judging by the lack of response, they had either set off for safer ground or ended up learning that their defenses were weak.

"I can check it, out," Carter said suddenly, surprising even himself. "It'd be hard to shoot up there anyway." Steven hesitated before nodding.

"Right. Just shout if there's trouble and we can come up."

 _Not very fast, but alright…_ The younger man looked up at the ladder - one of the weird retractable ones - and sighed before reaching up and hooking the bottom rung with his crowbar. It made a loud clattering as it descended and they froze, staring around for a moment before he heaved himself up, using his left wrist rather than his hand. The climb was a bit harder than it would have been normally, as one hand wasn't functioning properly and the other still clutched his weapon. He got to the first landing with little trouble, however, and peered over the edge to see his companions already watching the ends of the alley. Hank took down one infected that had apparently come for the noise before he glanced up and gave a short salute.

Carter turned back toward the stairs, hesitating while he tried to see through the steel to whatever waited for him up there. He took the stairs two at a time, crowbar raised in preparation to bash in the skulls of any infected that tried to surprise him. It turned out to be very anticlimactic, though, and he reached the second story unscathed. There had obviously been a fort of some kind there once; a lawn chair was leaning against the rail and some old kerosene lamp lay on its side a few feet away. He could see scattered wrappers and the shirt that was tied to the rail by one sleeve was fluttering halfheartedly in the breeze. Whoever had set the place up was obviously gone, though they didn't seem to have taken anything with them. A small cooler was tucked away under the chair and Carter tugged it out, ignoring the slight squeak of foam on metal.

"Thank you, stranger…" he muttered as he opened the lid and sifted through the contents. It seemed like a mini-safe room. Or, at least, one that was well stocked. A large pack of trail mix and four bags of beef jerky still remained at the bottom of the chest, along with a few boxes of ammo that he was almost sure fit Hank's handgun. He managed to reach around and unzip his bag with one hand, stuffing the food in quickly and closing it again. Gathering the boxes - there were six total, but he doubted Hank's bag could hold more than four - in his left arm, he did another cursory glance around the place, noting the broken window and large smear of blood that went through it. That would explain where the previous occupant had gotten to.

The loud screeches were unexpected, though all too familiar by now. Carter could hear Steven swear even from up there and he leaned over the railing carefully to peer down into the alley. It wasn't exactly a horde that was coming - probably more like a swarm, but it was bad enough. They came from both sides and the gunfire wasn't doing much to discourage them. Hank shot a glance upwards, his eyes wide.

"Appreciate a little help, kid!" the man called before turning his attention back to shooting. Carter let the ammo fall onto the lawn chair, his pulse spiking suddenly as he saw one of the infected push past Hank's gun and latch itself onto his shoulder. Crowbar firmly in hand, the younger man felt his muscles tense instinctively, and a slightly logical part of his mind realized that climbing down would not be practical at all. He barely realized he was on top of the railing until he had launched himself off, and the logical part of his mind screamed at him that this _wasn't_ what it had meant. It was only two stories, really, and the impact felt like nothing as he landed directly on top of the zombie, feeling the sharp _snap_ of a bone cracking when he hit. One blow with the crowbar stopped its twitching and he turned his attention to the rest, swinging almost aimlessly at anything that wasn't his two companions.

There weren't many coherent thoughts in his head at that moment. It seemed more like a blur of color than a real fight, and it was only the sounds of screeching and feeling of bones crunching under metal that assured him it was definitely not a dream. The discharge of the two guns on either side of him made his ears ring - they seemed twice as loud as usual - and he paused very briefly to shake his head in an attempt to clear it.

_Loudnoises, hurtingbadpain…_

After a while, swinging with the one hand didn't seem to be nearly as practical as using both, and he ignored the slight throb that his injury gave as he clutched the crowbar and continued his attacks with much greater vigor. One infected managed to sneak up beside him and fingers dug sharply into the back of his neck as the thing tried to tug him down to the ground. Carter whirled around, barely wincing as the nails sliced over what little skin was exposed and twisted sharply to dislodge his attacker. He kicked almost on impulse and was vaguely surprised when the zombie was thrown back, landing near Hank who shot it in the head as an afterthought.

The gunfire stopped with a final burst from Steven's SMG and the last infected fell with a gurgle. It took Carter a few moments to realize that it was over and his breath was coming out in short gasps as he stared around wildly. The silence that fell was almost eerie and he managed a few slightly steady breaths before glancing between the others. Their expressions wiped away any small surge of satisfaction that had risen and he blinked a few times. Steven's eyes were narrowed and he reloaded his gun without even glancing at it. The suspicion surpassed even what he had seen on Nick, and Carter swallowed before looking back at Hank. The blonde man had a mixture of shock and worry, something that seemed very out of place with him.

Steven stood a moment longer before nodding down the alley, signaling for Carter to take the lead. There wasn't much point in questioning it and he started off at a quick stride, hearing the gravel crunch as the other followed. His mind was racing around itself in an effort to figure out exactly what had happened. Whatever it was, it certainly hadn't helped to establish trust. He could imagine the gun in Steven's hand, half-raised just in case he had to fire off a quick shot.

 _He's going to kill me…he is seriously going to kill me._ It was an odd though, considering how flippantly he had used that phrase before the world went to smash. The grim reality of it when it was literal sent a small chill down his spine and he hefted the crowbar in his hand nervously. It didn't make sense; he hadn't turned, even a week after the attack. Almost everyone had felt the full onset of the infection within a day - 'Z-Day', as some had called it. Obviously if he had been fine for this long, nothing was going to happen, right? _I jumped. That was it. Are the Stalkers the only ones who jump now?_

They walked in silence for quite a while, dodging around any noise that could be heard ahead of time. When Hank fired a shot at an infected that stumbled out of a doorway, Carter recalled the ammo that he had left on the fire escape. He decided against bringing it up, considering they had already come a decent distance and, come to think of it, he wasn't exactly sure where the place was anymore. The trio wasn't taking a straight course toward the school. They mainly kept to the alleys and side streets, avoiding any large open areas they could. Hank would check any street names that were still readable and seemed satisfied that they were going in the right direction. It was a basic rule now; anywhere that may have been crowded with people before the infection was almost certainly swarming with zombies now. The main streets were out of the question.

It started raining again. Amid the smoke and dust in the air, it was difficult to see the sky clearly, even at midday. A distant clap of thunder rolled across it at one point and the infected screeched their displeasure. Carter wondered absently what they would attack if a real thunderstorm started up. Most likely anything that moved nearby, as nature wasn't exactly something they could swarm on. The young man glanced up, the cool - if probably filthy - water surprisingly welcome on his face. The sun hadn't been fully out in a few days. He had barely noticed it at first, unconsciously blaming it on the general state of the world. He realized now, however, that the clouds had been rolling in for a while. The thought of the seven day forecasts that used to be such a normal thing was almost laughable now. It wasn't like zombies would care what the weather was going to be.

The sudden flash of lightning across the sky was sudden, unexpected and _bright_. Carter gave a sharp hiss, squeezing his eyes shut and ducking his head instinctively. He wasn't used to it being that close or making his eyes smart like that. The water from his hair ran down his face and he wiped at it quickly, blinking in an attempt to get the spots out of his vision. The rain didn't show any signs of letting up, however, and any time he managed to get water out of his eyes more would just replace it. With a good deal of hesitance, he reached back and tugged the hood over his head. It was a large one and hung past his hairline; he could see the rain running off of the edge of it in tiny streams and falling to the sidewalk. Hank, still plodding behind him, swore quietly. As long as they could keep their guns dry, it shouldn't be all that bad. At least the rain was getting rid of a lot of the dust and grime.

The combined sounds of the weather and the ever-present moaning of the infected made anything softer very difficult to hear for most people. That didn't seem to be an issue for Carter anymore, however, and he didn't like to consider the _why_ of that for too long. He was the first to hear something that seemed very out of place, and it made him stop very suddenly - much to his companions confusion.

"What is that?" the young man muttered, glancing around quickly. The others scanned the area before Hank cleared his throat.

"Nothin' around, kid. What's up?"

"I hear-" He shook his head, one hand lifting in an understood request for silence. It seemed to be coming from across the small street they were on, somewhere near a little gas station. His head tilted automatically in that direction just as the sound came again, much clearer now, proving his initial wild assumption right; _coughing?_ "There's someone across the street. They sound sick."

"Normally sick or infected-sick?" Steven muttered, and Carter glanced back at him. The older man still had a suspicious half-glare set in place, but he, like Hank, didn't question exactly how something like that could be heard.

"Coughing. Either a lifetime smoker with pneumonia or someone who just lost half a lung…" Hank grunted, peering across the street carefully.

"Not seein' anyone…might be in the shadows, it's-"

He was cut off as a long red… _something_ flew toward them, hitting Steven square in the chest and wrapping around him quickly. It was drawn back before anyone had time to react, dragging its 'catch' with it onto the asphalt. Steven shouted, something that might have once been an eloquent curse, but his voice was rather weak as if he had gotten the breath knocked out of him.

Even as his adrenaline spiked, Carter could only really settle on one coherent thought; a seemingly-distant memory of that other survivor, Nick, when they had been discussing the Stalkers. What was it he had said? _The commons are the least of your worries…_

He always hated admitting it when jerks like that were right.


	6. The Trail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some zombies get a well needed bath and Steven makes a pun.

There one second, across the street the next – it was almost like someone had slipped a hook in the back of Steven's shirt and given it a huge yank. Carter could hear when Steven hit the ground; there was a muffled grunt as his back met the asphalt. The gun in his hand had clattered to the ground and one arm was pinned to his side. The other stretched out for a moment, back toward his companions, before it darted to his throat just in time to keep the red thing from completely constricting his windpipe. It took Carter a moment to make his eyes move again and he quickly followed the snare back to the roof, attempting to find its source. Whatever it was managed to keep just out of sight, though the rain and dark skies as a background didn't help.

"What the hell –" Hank cut off, his handgun lifting automatically. He seemed to think better of shooting into the shadows, however; was doubtful he'd hit anything and they were low on ammo as it was. Instead, he took off across the street after the captured man, Carter a few steps behind him. The thing was stronger than it looked. It had pulled Steven to the overhang that covered the gas pumps and was actually trying to pull him up to the roof. For a moment it looked like it might be successful, but the weight proved too much and Steven ended up dangling some ten feet from the ground.

" _Shoot it-"_ he managed to croak. Hank looked like he was considering the idea strongly, but after a second he stuck his gun back in his pocket.

"I'm not that good an aim," he growled. "Can't risk hittin' him… _Dammit,_ what the hell is that thing?!" Light brown eyes were scanning the area frantically and after a moment the blonde man grunted. "You got a knife, kid?"

"A knife – no, haven't seen one since –"

"Dammit." Hank pulled his backpack off and let it fall to the concrete before holding out a hand. "I need your crowbar."

"What are you –"

"We don't have time for this, Carter! Crowbar, _now!"_ Carter blinked once as he handed it over, looking up when Steven gave a weak wheeze. Whatever had him had apparently given up trying to lift him the rest of the distance and was now just constricting…

The sound of shattering glass drew his attention away again, though by the time he looked over Hank was already next to him again with a large chunk of what used to be a car window in his hand. He pulled his gun out and handed it to Carter along with the crowbar.

"If that thing even shows a finger, you nail it," he growled. "Cover us." The older man pulled himself onto the hood of an abandoned truck, and from there to the truck's roof. It bowed in a little under his weight and the metal gave a protesting creak, but that was ignored. From that vantage point, he could just reach Steven and the red thing that held him. Face set, Hank sliced into it mercilessly, sawing with the glass like it was a piece of extremely rare steak. Carter heard a shriek from the roof, and the snare gave a spasm. For a moment it seemed to make an attempt to hold on, but then it suddenly went slack and was retracted backwards.

Steven hit the ground hard. There was a slight crack as he met concrete and it looked like one ankle twisted at an angle it really shouldn't. Carter turned the gun warily back toward the roof, but nothing appeared over the edge. Whatever that had been, it didn't seem eager to expose itself. Hank jumped down from the car immediately, the glass falling from his hands. Steven managed to sit up, clutching at his ribs and looked like he was attempting to get a decent breath in.

"…the hell…" he panted hoarsely. "What the hell…was that thing?" Hank dropped to his knees in front of his companion, frowning.

"No idea," he muttered, glancing up as Carter came beside them. "I didn't see…you see anythin', kid?" The younger man shook his head mutely and Hank sighed. "It was…hell, that thing was wet. It felt slimy, like some sort of –"

"It felt like a damn tongue," Steven growled. "I was just grabbed by a _tongue_. What the hell is happening to them?" As if on cue they all glanced around quickly, searching for any signs of infected that may have heard the commotion. The street was still clear, however, and Hank looked back, his frown deepening.

"You alright?" he asked. Steven nodded, his arms falling to his sides again.

"I'm fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me." Dark eyes narrowed as he examined Hank. "What about you?" Hank looked down and couldn't quite contain a grimace. It was only then that Carter noticed the blood. Hank's right hand was covered in the stuff, and it was likely most of it was his own. The palm had been sliced to the bone, and there were gashes on his thumb and pinky from holding the glass in place. The left was cut up too, probably from rooting through the broken window in order to find the right piece to use. Blood dripped steadily from Hank's fingertips, making swirls of crimson in the puddles forming on the street.

_Hell that's a lot of blood…_

_Lotsofblood, goodprey, goodprey…_

"It's nothin'," Hank assured them right away. "Just a scratch." His eyes darted up again at the sound of a screech that echoed around the buildings. It sounded like a normal infected, but there wasn't really any way to tell. "We gotta get movin', get out of the open…"

"I'm fine," Steven repeated. "Let's go." He pushed himself to his feet and then staggered, instinctively grabbing Carter's shoulder for support. "Just vertigo, I'm fine…"

"Steven, you hit pretty damn hard," Hank pointed out as he stood as well. "We can hole up in the station for a bit, get ya looked over…"

"I'm _fine,_ Hank."

The older man fell silent, exchanging a glance with Carter as Steven straightened and looked around. "Where'd my gun go?"

"You dropped it when it grabbed you," Carter told him, nodding back toward the street. "It was…" He trailed off as the black-haired man strode into the road, the puddles splashing around his feet with each step. He stumbled once, and a hand went to his head for a moment before he bent to pick up the SMG. A quick examination seemed to prove it in functioning condition.

"Let's go." The other two hesitated a moment as Steven set off down the road. Hank glanced down at his hands again. The adrenaline rush appeared to be wearing off and he looked a little paler than usual. The blood was dripping onto the concrete and some ran down his arm when he lifted his right hand to examine the wound. The man pressed it to his jeans for a moment with a flinch. It left large stains, much more prominent than the faded ones that had been gathered over the past week or so, and it didn't seem like the cuts were about to stop bleeding. He picked up his backpack again carefully, giving a soft hiss as the straps passed over his hands. Carter offered the man his pistol back and Hank shook his head quickly.

"Gotta get this wrapped up first," he muttered. "Let's get somewhere less exposed…" The younger man blinked down at the gun and frowned.

"I'm not exactly a good shot…"

"Just hold onto it for now. Worst case scenario, just point and pull the trigger." Carter shrugged and followed his companions, clicking the safety back on and sticking the handgun into his hoodie pocket.

It was doubtful that someone like Steven had dealt with being dropped ten feet onto concrete before. He had the look of a businessman when they first met up, and the town didn't exactly have a huge crime rate. Even so, he took it in stride – quite literally. He ended up managing a faster pace than the other two, mainly because he wasn't bothering to keep watch around them like Hank and Carter still were. The younger man could see him wince every few steps, a slight interruption in the set grimace. The SMG in his hands was held steady, though, and he didn't doubt that Steven could take out any infected that crossed their path in a heartbeat, busted ankle or not.

It took a little over two blocks for the black-haired man to start limping. An exchanged glance proved that Hank noticed it too, but neither seemed to feel the urge to bring it up. Steven had somehow become their unofficial leader, despite the age difference between him and Hank, and at that point it was a lot easier to just follow without question. If anything, he was rational. He thought things through and didn't hesitate to get something done. _Even if that something includes killing you, right Carter?_

Hank seemed too stubborn to slow down, even as the gashes on his hands refused to stop bleeding. It looked like he was wearing some sort of scarlet glove. He managed to put some pressure on the biggest wound by holding his left wrist tightly, but it was still dripping as they walked. Carter, taking the rear as usual, could occasionally catch the metallic smell of blood and made an effort to ignore it. If he could smell it, though, there was no telling what else could…

The rain hadn't let up any. If anything, it had only gotten worse. Carter could see the occasional zombie hunched against the wall of a building as if hoping it would provide some sort of shelter from the water. None of them looked up long enough to spot the survivors as they strode past and it was doubtful Steven even really noticed them. Even with his limp, they were moving as if he had a set destination in mind. That theory was shot down, though, when he suddenly stopped at a street corner and glanced up at the sign – though 'glared' might have been a more appropriate term.

"Think there's a place to hole up around here?" he shot over his shoulder, and Hank frowned a little as he got his bearings. It was difficult to tell with the lack of any real sunlight, but he seemed even paler than before and was breathing a little quicker than usual.

"There's…" Hank paused briefly. "Some laundromat's down Aspen a ways. I remember it's got bars on the windows. Think that'll do?"

Steven grunted, rubbing his face with one hand. Carter noticed for the first time that there was a small trail of blood running down the side of his face from his hairline – mostly dried by now. The young man felt a short spike of pain in his own head, though he wasn't sure if that was some sympathy pain or just the now-normal headache. Steven was more battered than he let on, Hank was steadily losing blood, and as a result they were down a gun. If any of the infected were looking for an opportune moment to attack, they certainly had one.

"It'll be enough. We need to get out of the rain, off the streets…"

"Hold up," Hank interrupted. "What was that?" Steven and Carter looked at him curiously before following his wary gaze across the street. The rooftops were difficult to see with the dim light and the steady rain, but that didn't stop them from peering up at them. It was mostly silent for a moment before Carter heard it too – a low wheezing that seemed to be coming from one of the buildings hidden in gloom. He swore under his breath, glancing back at the others. Steven had tensed up and Hank's hand twitched to his hip before he glanced at Carter and flexed his fingers with a wince.

"Dammit…knew it wasn't dead," he muttered. "Is it following us now or somethin'?"

"Probably wants to finish the job." Steven sounded like he was challenging the infected to try it. He turned again to continue limping down Aspen. "Come on; let's not give it a clear shot."

Hank snorted quietly, hesitating a moment before he followed and Carter took an extra second to examine the concrete structures warily. A small part of his mind that found itself hilarious noted that whatever that thing was, it appeared to be more deserving of the 'Stalker' title than the one that had gotten him before. The wheezing breaths died away, as if it had suppressed them on purpose in an effort not to be discovered. The young man frowned as he fingered his crowbar idly and then turned, jogging a few steps to catch up with the other two.

It was a literal downpour by the time they found the Laundromat. Carter had grown rather appreciative of his hood, even if it was soaked through. Steven made a point to block most of the water from hitting his gun, only drawing it when it needed to be pointed at a zombie that got too close. The black-haired man still took the lead. Luckily, that also meant he couldn't easily shoot Carter suspicious glares like he had been doing for the past day. After the most recent encounter, of course, it was doubtful that a few instances of odd behavior were at the top of his priority list.

As Hank had said, there were iron bars across all the windows of the building. The windows themselves were busted out – most likely from the inside, as most of the glass was on the sidewalk – but it still looked relatively secure.

"Think any of those machines still work?" Hank asked as they pulled a few timbers away from the front door. He was only using his left hand, but still barely contained occasional flinches. "Hell with modesty, I'd strip down in an instant if it meant clean clothes…"

"Thanks for that, Hank – really appreciate it," Steven muttered, though his firm glare seemed to loosen up a little. Knowing Hank, that had probably been the goal all along. Even as his arms were practically covered in his own blood, he was still managing to crack jokes.

The bell above the door didn't jingle as much as it gave a despondent rattle when they pushed into the dimly lit room. Each did an instinctive sweep, eyes wide as they attempted to make out more than vague shapes in the shadows.

"Anyone got a light?" Steven asked quietly. Hank grunted.

"Might have one in the bag, hang on…" He swung his backpack off and paused a second before handing it to the black-haired man with a slight chuckle. "Doubt you want me rootin' through the supplies like this, right?" Steven snorted lightly, taking the bag, tugging the zipper open, and sifting through the contents. Carter pulled the battered door shut behind them and hefted his crowbar to his shoulder.

"Seems clear to me," he told them. Carter regretted the statement a moment later when the black-haired man shot him an odd look. It didn't last long; he looked away again the next instant and shrugged.

"Not of all of us are bats, kid. Need to get this place lit up some." He pulled a small plastic flashlight from the bottom of the backpack. It looked like something that would be purchased from a dollar store, but it worked well enough when it was flipped on. The first thing Carter noticed was a blood stain in one corner of the room. It was dried, but didn't look very old. The light swept away from that quickly, and they took inventory of the room. A few machines lay on their sides, and one was moved almost halfway across the floor from where it had originally stood.

"Looks like someone tried to make a stand in here," Steven muttered quietly. "Didn't work, apparently." Hank grunted, leaning heavily against the nearest wall as the other man strode to the other end of the room and checked behind a few of the overturned washers.

"They may have gotten out. No signs of a body and there were boards on the outside of the door. Doubt zombies could've managed that."

"Why would they have boarded it up from the outside?" Carter asked, glancing at the barred windows. "Seems a little counterproductive, doesn't it?"

"Maybe they were makin' sure nothin' else got in before they got back…"

"Either way," Steven cut in, "it works for now. We'll find a decent safe house once this rain lets up." He came back to the others and rested a hand on what was once probably a folding table. "As long as we have a watch the whole time, we'll be fine." Hank grunted again, his eyes closing as he let his head rest against the wall.

It was silent for a few moments aside from the steady rain and rather heavy breathing. The copper tang of fresh blood was heavy in the air. Carter shut his eyes as the pain in his head gave a sharp throb.

_Lotsofblood, injuredpreygood. Havetopounce, preyweak. Pounceriptear…_

"What the hell, Hank?" The young man blinked his eyes open again at the sudden sharp voice and shook his head once. The previous train of thought trailed away and he forced himself to focus on the other two. Steven had apparently spotted Hank's hands and dark eyes were narrowed. "Why didn't you say something?" Hank glanced down at the cuts and attempted a nonchalant shrug.

"More important gettin' somewhere safe first," he said. "Didn't wanna slow things down, not out there."

"So you'd rather pass out from blood loss, huh?" Steven gave a light sigh, shaking his head as he crouched to retrieve the bag. "You know, your thoughtfulness is gonna get you killed one of these days."

Hank chuckled.

"Better than gettin' killed for bein' a jerk, right? Like that Nick guy is gonna end up?" That got a weary grin as the other man straightened again with the bag they had stuffed their meager medical supplies into.

"I suppose there's that…come on, I'll get that wrapped at the very least. Don't want you bleeding out on the floor." He glanced over at the window a little warily as a crack of thunder echoed around the buildings – one that made Carter's head throb again – and nodded at the youngest of the group. "You mind keeping watch, kid?" Carter nodded, hefting his crowbar in his hands.

"Yeah, I've got it." He turned his attention to the entrance as Steven pulled out the gauze and the tube of antiseptic. It was quiet, except for the relentless pounding of the rain and occasional hisses from Hank as the gash was wiped clean. The floor was getting a thin layer of water on it; gusts of wind kept blowing rain straight through the open window. Carter was tempted to pull his hood back down, but it seemed to have helped before in focusing the sound better and he wasn't eager to have anything sneak up on them.

Everything was muffled with the rain's background noise, and it took a few moments to be sure when there was another sound. It was familiar now, even when it was so quiet; rasping coughs and the occasional wheeze in between. Apparently getting its tongue sawn half off hadn't put the thing in a very good mood.

_Who knew zombies could be vengeful?_

"That tongue thing is out there," he muttered over his shoulder. Steven paused, glancing toward the window before he sighed heavily.

"Just stay back from the bars," the man said. "It can't do much when we've got a roof." Carter nodded, taking half a step back and resuming his scan of the street. The coughing continued and it was soon joined by another sound – splashing, and rough moaning that he had come to associate with the infected. Their silhouettes could be seen through the dim light shuffling down the street like they actually had a destination in mind. There were about four in the group and the Carter gripped his crowbar a little tighter, ignoring the stab of pain in his injured hand.

"We've got some company." The other two looked over, squinting to see through the gloom.

"How many, ya think?" Hank asked. He seemed to have accepted the fact that Carter could often see things they couldn't, though Steven still frowned a little. Of course, he always seemed to be frowning…

"Four, as far as I can tell."

Hank shrugged once, glancing down at his hand with a flinch as Steven tightened the wrapping on it.

"If they stick around 'till we leave, we can take care of them. No use wasting bullets for now."

"No use drawing attention," the dark-haired man them. "Gunshots echo like crazy with the buildings this close."

"Crowbar to the head, you think?" Carter suggested, looking around at them with an attempted grin. Steven smirked a little, shaking his head.

"Yeah, kid. Crowbar to the head." A bolt of lightning cracked overhead, the thunder rolling almost immediately behind it and the younger man had to resist the urge to cover his ears as the noise echoed in his head. He could hear a few angry screeches over the sound of the rain and turned back to watch the zombie's progress. The water didn't seem to deter them any, though one tripped as it stepped into a puddle that was apparently deeper than it looked. Its fellows simply staggered around the fallen form until it pushed itself back up again and continued as if nothing had happened.

"How we doin', Carter?" Hank called and Carter lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

"These four'll be gnawing the bars in a second. Doesn't seem like – ah, hell." He leaned to one side to peer down to the other end of the street. "Scratch that, there's a few more coming from the opposite way." The first group hit the metal bars almost at the same time and hopeful arms reached through as they sent a collective snarl in at the survivors. One had its ear nearly bitten off and another was missing most of the right side of its face.

"What're they staring at?" Steven muttered, coming to stand beside Carter with his arms crossed. It took a moment to realize what he was talking about; all four of the infected weren't keeping their focus solely on the men in the room. They seemed to be alternating between watching potential prey and staring at the floor. After a second Carter followed the milky gazes and frowned.

"It's the blood." He nodded at it, ignoring the throbbing protest his head gave the motion. "There's blood on the floor." Steven turned around again and seemed to swear under his breath as he raked a hand back through the hair that was still plastered to his head.

"They must be able to smell it…" He shot a glance at Hank, who was keeping his now-bandaged hands lifted slightly. Steven had cleaned off most of the blood up to his wrists, but his arms – especially the left one – still had a thick coating of red. "Hank's been bleeding this entire way; we left a damn trail right to us."

"Maybe the rain will wash it off, get rid of the scent…"

"It's in the puddles. Those things are like bloodhounds when it comes to that…no pun intended, of course." He seemed to scowl at his own words for a second, then strode to the other side of the Laundromat restlessly. "Any of them come across the smell, they're going to come straight for us…"

Carter looked back toward the window and cringed.

"Like those, you mean?" The second group had since joined the first. There were now at least nine of them, all pressed against the bars and attempting to reach through the open window to the humans that stood just out of reach. The rain had picked up more and it almost muffled their mixed groaning. A gust of wind brought a quick sheet of water into the room and Carter took a step back, vaguely noting the splashing around his feet.

"Dammit…" Steven stood staring at the window for a moment, his hands folded behind his head. Hank still looked fairly pale, though his breathing seemed back to normal, but it was easy to see that he wasn't about to be holding a gun properly any time soon. Another crack of thunder echoed around the buildings and the zombies increased the volume of their groaning to match it. There were a few louder screeches, though, that didn't come from the ones at the bars; Carter risked a few steps forward to look over the mangled heads down the street. He found himself staring before he blinked twice and glanced back at the other two.

"There's…we've got more on the way."

"How many more?" The rain was pouring and made things fuzzier than usual as he peered at the approaching infected for a brief second.

"It's dark, I can't be—"

"Come on, Carter, we all know you can see damn well in the dark with those eyes. _How many?_ " The younger man swallowed before looking back out and doing a quick mental tally.

"Must be…fifteen or twenty, maybe more in the shadows." Even though he had been the one to practically order it, Steven still managed a slightly suspicious glare at that before he turned away again and started pacing the length of the room. Hank was watching the zombies already at the window almost wearily.

"Five we can take out pretty quick," he muttered, "but thirty? No way. No way in hell we're just fightin' through that."

"You're sure, Carter?" Steven demanded from the opposite corner, leaning on one of the dryers with one hand. When he got a hasty nod the man turned to glare at the machine for a moment before slamming his hand against it. "Where the hell did they all come from?"

"Might've heard the noise with that tongue thing," Hank pointed out. "We weren't quiet. Could've been followin' us for a while now and just caught up."

"So what, we've got a fan club now?" The black-haired man let out a breath, one hand going almost unconsciously to his head as his eyes closed. "I'd say just wait them out, but…"

"But they never really seem to leave," Hank finished with a grimace. "You'd think they'd get bored or somethin'…"

A bolt of lightning cracking nearby made them all flinch, and only seemed to aggravate the zombies further. Carter felt a spike of pain drive its way through his head and he too shut his eyes for a moment, attempting to fight it back.

_Noisebadbadsounds…_

The first few infected in the larger crowd began pressing themselves up behind their brethren. They were all dripping wet, and once Carter forced his eyes fully open again he could see that the ones approaching were wading in ankle-deep puddles. The storm drains didn't seem to be doing a whole lot, and the rain just kept coming down in sheets. Every now and then another well-placed gust of wind would toss the water into the window and add to the growing puddles on the floor.

"Hell, they just keep coming…" The entire length of the window was crammed with zombies, leaving about a two foot gap between the tops of their heads and the frame. The collective muttering, moaning, and occasional hiss was growing louder than the rain. Cracks of thunder were coming even more frequently and the wind seemed to be at a steady roar.

"We're in the middle of a damn hurricane and the damn things just keep coming!" Steven was half turned to resume his pacing when a new sound penetrated the rest: the sudden creak of bending metal. Hank swore quietly. His arms dropped to rest on his knees as he watched the struggling zombies, expression resigned.

"They're comin', alright…"


	7. The Escalation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a map would be very useful.

The rain wasn't letting up any more than the infected were. Each rumble of thunder sent another throb of pain through Carter's head, and he had to make a conscious effort at keeping his face from showing it. It didn't seem like there were any more infected adding to the mass outside, but those were definitely a problem enough by themselves. The bars hadn't bent significantly yet, but the occasional creak would still echo through the laundromat and make all three of them freeze and look over at the window nervously.

Steven had taken to pacing the length of the room. His gun was clutched tightly in his hands and dark eyes mostly remained on the drenched floor. Carter alternated between watching him, the window, and Hank, who was still leaning against the wall. The blonde man looked exhausted, his his eyes mostly remaining closed. Considering how much blood he had lost, it was understandable. Most people wouldn't make it through an average day on these streets, even without getting their hands sliced open.

Another clap of thunder made the floor shudder and Carter could hear Steven swear as he paused his pacing to look at the other two.

"Any ideas?" When no one jumped to answer he spun around again and went to the back wall, looking it over as if expecting to see something suddenly materialize in front of him. "There's gotta be some back way, some maintenance door or something..."

"No doors, no other windows," Hank muttered, his eyes still closed. "Whoever built this place wasn't very worried of being trapped inside. Not like washing machines are gonna attack, is it?"

"There's got to be _something_. There's no way in hell I'm dying in a laundromat..."

Carter noticed himself tapping restlessly at the crowbar in his hand and stilled the motion, glancing out into the rain. Most of his view of the street was blocked off by the mass of bodies, but from what he could see the entire area was flooding. Nothing had been cleaned in weeks and the storm drains were too clogged to do their jobs properly. The storm was dumping gallons of water pretty consistently. He wondered if there had been a hurricane warning he had missed before the infection hit. The thunder wasn't letting up, and a particularly loud crack made him squeeze his eyes shut as his head throbbed sharply.

_Badnoise, loudnoisehurt, bad..._

The sound of a metal door snapping shut made the young man look around again quickly and it took him a moment to spot Steven moving up the row of dryers, opening each and peering inside them.

"What are you looking for?" Steven glanced up from his work briefly. His face was set, determined, perhaps even a little defiant.

"Anything," he growled. "Someone was in this place before us. There's no reason to board up a place that doesn't have anything worthwhile in it, is there?" Carter vaguely wondered when anything in the entire situation had ever had an ounce of reason behind it. Even so, Steven had never been one to sit down and accept imminent death. No, he would fight it tooth and nail for as long as possible. It was probably the main reason the man was still alive.

Another moan of the metal bars got Hank to stand fully, his arms crossed a little awkwardly to compensate for the bandages. He didn't look worried. Come to think of it, Hank rarely looked actually worried. When things were going bad he either looked almost angry at the situation or just resigned.

"Not to state the obvious, but we gotta get somethin'," he said, shooting a look back at Steven quickly. "Is there any way to distract the things?"

"You mean aside from live bait?" There was a slightly awkward silence, interrupted once by a crack of thunder, before Steven slammed another dryer door shut and turned to stare at the window. One hand ran back through his hair impatiently, only succeeding in making it stand even more on end. "Need either a distraction or some...hand grenade or something."

"Didn't find that in the store, that's for sure..."

Steven returned to his search with a muttered curse and Hank went to stand beside Carter, eyeing the snarling crowd of infected. Not for the first time, the younger man was struck by just how small he was in comparison. Hank hadn't given many details about his life before the outbreak, but he looked like he could've easily been involved in football or weight-lifting or something similar. He was starting to look thinner than he had in the beginning, but that wasn't unexpected considering the amount of exercise they were getting daily and the lack of real substantial food.

"Always forget how many of them there are," the blond man muttered. "Don't really think about it until they get like this."

"Were there any...numbers or anything before the news shut down?"

"Probably nothin' accurate. They were tryin' to keep panic down, ya know?" He let out a breath and shook his head. "Some stations were just sayin' it was bad. Best estimate I heard was maybe seventy-percent infection rate, but it probably got worse after the power shut down."

 _Seventy...hell, how many is that?_ Carter didn't know how many people were supposed to be in the city, but it wasn't a small one. That meant thirty percent had been uninfected, and judging by how many other survivors they had seen it was likely that most of them had been killed already. He had no idea if it had gotten worldwide or if there were any settlements that had held out. All they had was a chance of finding the army at the school and getting some kind of evacuation to...somewhere else.

Another flash of lightning made the younger man flinch and the thunder that followed set the infected snarling a little louder. _What do they attack in a thunderstorm?_ Apparently whatever was convenient. Not like they could go after the weather itself.

"I think I got - this one's not opening." They glanced over at Steven - what little could be seen of his head above one of the dryers - and he straightened suddenly with a satisfied noise. "Hell, I _knew it._ Got a duffel bag in here." Hank spun around quickly and crossed the room, crouching next to the bag as Steven tossed it on the floor.

"Guess someone was planning on comin' back for it," he muttered. Carter let himself look over at the still-growling crowd reaching through the window before he went to join the other two just as Steven was yanking at the zipper. "Dunno why anyone would want to backtrack through this mess..."

The bag appeared to have been thrown together as some sort of emergency kit in a last-minute attempt to prepare for travel. There were some water bottles that were, thankfully, still sealed, a bag of trail mix, and what looked like some kind of granola bars. A jacket had been rolled up at the bottom and Steven frowned a little when he pulled it out.

"Something in this, I think..."

The sleeves had been tied and it took a little fumbling to get the knot out before he managed to unwrap the bundle and pull out one fairly long red cylinder. Hank raised a brow when Steven held it up to the light.

"They got dynamite in an emergency kit?"

"Be nice, but not quite." For the first time in days Steven looked like he was halfway considering a smile. There was a little relief in his expression, at the very least. "Road flare. Usually use it to signal for help, but something tells me it could be a damn decent distraction."

Carter glanced over his shoulder at the crowd of infected still clawing through the bars and winced a little as the metal gave another protesting creak.

"Think they'll go after it?"

"I've seen them attacking cars that still had their blinkers on," the older man pointed out. "I think if we chuck it close enough they might pay more attention to the new light show than a smell. It should clear out enough of them to let us sneak by, at least." Hank actually looked a little impressed.

"How long you think it'll last?"

"Depends on the type but I figure these can go ten minutes, at the very least."

"That's enough of a head-start for me." The blond man grinned - he was always the one who found it easiest to smile, even when they were mere feet away from at least thirty snarling infected - and stood, though a little cautiously. "I just wanna get out of this damn room."

"Carter?" The young man felt himself a jump a little when he realized he was suddenly being addressed and his eyes snapped over to Steven. "Any input?" He let himself hesitate a moment, running the idea over his head before shrugging.

"Seems worth a shot. It's not like we have many other options, right?"

"We haven't had many options from day one." Steven twisted the cap off, rubbing a finger over what Carter assumed was the ignitor as if he was testing it. "Grab the stuff; we're getting the hell out of this place."

They packed the supplies back up quickly, adding the food from the duffel bag into Carter's backpack. Steven pulled the new jacket on over his own and stood as close to the window as he could while still being out of reach of the groping arms, staring through the crowd into the still-flooding street.

"There's an awning on the building next to us," he said. "This isn't going to do a damn thing in three feet of water, so I'd say that's the best bet." He turned to look over the other two quickly and frowned a little thoughtfully. "We need a good arm..."

Hank blinked when two sets of eyes fell on him and lifted his bandaged hands with a grimace.

"Not gonna do much good with these. Couldn't hold onto anythin' very well right now, and throwin' it would be iffy at best."

"I was worried about that." Steven let out a breath and raised an eyebrow at Carter. "Don't suppose you were a pro baseball player and forgot to tell us, huh, kid?" The younger man shook his head.

"Tried to play in middle school. That wasn't a good idea for anyone involved."

There was a cap on top of the lid that came off with a snap and Steven examined it critically before swearing under his breath. He didn't look at all eager to suddenly be the one responsible for the distraction and Carter wondered just how much experience he had with things like road flares in the first place.

"Alright, let's get this over with...got everything?" The others gave a nod in the affirmative. It was quick work to get what little barricades they had set up moved from the door and Hank kept himself braced against it in case the infected suddenly decided to turn their attention to the weaker point.

Steven stared out the window again for a few moments and then glanced down at flare. His expression was some mixture of wariness and stubborn determination, but it seemed the stubborn side won out. He struck whatever was on top of the cap against the top of the flare sharply and held it away from himself quickly when a sudden bright shower of sparks leapt from the ignitor.

Carter could see the infected's attention shift suddenly; their eyes snapped over to the light and it was as if the idea of getting to the humans inside had suddenly vanished in favor of getting to this new sparkly attraction. Steven waved the stick a few times, letting out what might've once been a bark of a laugh when the crowd followed its movements intently with renewed groans and snarls.

"You want it, you sick little freaks, fine by me." He took another short moment to analyze the throw and then hurled the flare out into the rain.

It was obvious as soon as the thing was in the air - well, maybe not obvious to the others, Carter realized, but definitely obvious to him - that the throw was off. He watched it even as the infected all turned to follow it, as the three survivors were pushing out into the street again and were immediately knee-deep in the water.

The flare did manage to hit the awning, at least. It just didn't hit well. The mob went surging after it, chasing the spitting, sparkling lights as they arced through the rain. The end of the flare struck the edge of the awning, bounced off, and fell straight into the street. It was quickly submerged in about three feet of water.

The three men froze, staring as the infected surrounded the now-dimmed light, clawing at the water and screeching their displeasure. It managed to last a good four or five seconds before they could see the red light flicker a few times, and then it seemed to decide that sparks weren't very effective under water. There were another few seconds in which the clawing and snarling continued, but it didn't take long for them to realize that the new prey had died off quickly. The street fell silent, save the steady sound of the downpour, and then another soft growl rose from the crowd as one of the mutilated faces turned back toward the survivors.

"Oh, you have _got_ to be -" Steven swore and spun around, shouting what was probably an unnecessary " _Run!_ " over his shoulder.

Still sore, exhausted, stuck in knee-deep water, and now soaked to the skin again, they ran.

It was impossible to differentiate between the sidewalk and the street anymore; everything had turned brown and there was unidentifiable debris being pulled along by the current. In some way, they were a little lucky; running against the flow of water would've been even more exhausting than going downstream. That was probably the only upside to the entire thing, of course. The crowd behind them seemed far less hindered by the water and gained ground steadily. Carter found himself fending off a groping arm or two by swinging his crowbar blindly. Steven was attempting to keep the pace even with his sprained ankle while keeping his gun out of the rain as much as possible, and Hank had nothing to defend himself with but his wrapped hands.

The weather wasn't letting up at all. Cracks of thunder still made Carter wince and sent the infected into another screeching frenzy. It was almost as if they were blaming the humans for the weather and expected it to get better once the instigators were eaten. _Yeah, because zombies have logic._

He could see Steven go down out of the corner of his eye, see his bad leg suddenly sink further into the water than it it seemed like it should and the man stumble. That was all it took for the faster infected to catch up and there was a swarm on him in less than a second. Carter spun immediately, vaguely realized he was shouting Hank's name before he was suddenly in the middle of everything.

A small part of his mind noticed that he absolutely no idea what he was doing. Everything was relying on instinct, on reaction, on a sudden strange rage that had suddenly enveloped everything. He could tell Hank had come back and was working to pull Steven out of the crowd, using elbows and kicks to deter anything that got too close.

The sounds of the infected screeches and cracking bone under metal were almost drowned out by the roar of wind and rain. There was blood spreading out in the water, beginning to flow down the current that used to be a street.

_Badblood, badsmell, nogoodnotprey._

The sudden snap of gunfire cut through everything else and the flash of the muzzle was nearly lost in a burst of lightning. Steven was up and apparently his gun was still functioning. Hank had resorted to simple hits, just trying to get their attackers far back enough to be shot. The bullets were being used sparingly, carefully, and a distant part of Carter's rational mind noted that it was probably to avoid hitting him by accident.

_Badprey, badpreydie..._

"Carter!" He could hear the voice, but it didn't really sink in, didn't really have any meaning over the haze in his mind. His focus was on the thrashing bodies around him, dodging any attempts to grab him, spinning around to face the new opponent... "Carter, we gotta go!" A touch on his shoulder made the young man whirl around, teeth bared in a snarl. The hand was withdrawn quickly and it took a second or two for the face to come into focus. Steven's eyes were wide and he had taken a half step back. After a slight hesitation he let the gun lower slightly. "The slower ones will catch up in a second; we have to move, _now_."

Carter realized his crowbar was still brandished and he forced himself to lower it some, brown eyes doing a nervous sweep of the area. There were bodies strewn around the street, most half-submerged and - he was vaguely surprised to see - most with their heads caved in.

"Was - was that -"

"I mean _now_ , kid!"

They took off again, at a slightly slower run since the infected that were left tended to have broken legs or other various stages of decay that kept them from moving quite as quickly.

They had run like this once before, he could remember. It was near the beginning right after the two older men had found him; there hadn't been nearly as many after them then, but they had been just as relentless. It had taken far too long to shake the things, dodging through back alleys, climbing over fences, and the like.

By the time they had lost their pursuers that time, it was easy to tell that Carter was definitely the least athletic of the three. Hank looked like the type to be out running on a regular basis, but Steven continuously surprised them both with his level of endurance. He had never given very extensive reasons for it, though Carter and Hank used to joke that he worked for the CIA before the outbreak - he definitely looked the type. In contrast, however, Carter had been out of breath after the first few blocks. It had been mostly adrenaline and the threat of a painful death that had kept him going back then.

Today...today was different. He had no idea how far they had gone, but if anything it felt like the fighting had given him even more energy. Hank already looked exhausted - partly from the blood-loss earlier, he was sure - and Steven was panting heavily, his limp more pronounced. Carter felt almost invigorated. His mind was racing, half-coherent thoughts flashing across it before he had time to really tell what they meant. Muscles were burning, but it didn't register as pain. Somehow it was doubtful just a few weeks of sneaking around with occasional sprints could suddenly get him in shape...but he didn't have time to consider it at the moment.

"Where - where're we going, Hank?" Steven managed to grind out between breaths. Carter noted that, while he could vaguely recognize a street or two just by name, he had no idea where they were. Hank was staring around a little frantically and let out a breathless curse.

"Goin' the wrong way, s'what we're doin'," he told them. "Got turned north - goin' straight back into the city."

"Can't really double back," Carter pointed out, realizing just how obvious of a statement that was a moment later. "Is there somewhere to circle around?"

"I don't...dammit, I don't _know_. We gotta find somewhere to stop, I can't exactly plan a route on the run..." Hank had been their guide from the start. While all three of the men lived in the city before the outbreak, Hank had grown up here. He claimed he'd never seen any real reason to leave, and that gave him the advantage of knowing not only the streets and potential places to find food, but obscure abandoned warehouses and which sections of the city were more likely to be picked clean already. Generally, Steven would think up some basic idea of a plan and Hank would tell them how to get there. In the state they were all in now, however, it had to be a good deal harder.

Carter realized that he had pulled a little bit ahead of the others and let himself pause a moment, his empty hand going to lean against a lamp post as he scanned the area around them. He could feel - actually _feel_ \- his mind working furiously, analyzing things his conscious mind didn't even know were important.

_Dangerstill, indangertooexposed, badpreyfight, toomanytoomanytofight..._

The young man shook his head sharply to try and clear it, glancing back at his companions as they caught up. The infected were getting farther behind, but they gained ground steadily and, unlike their targets, didn't tire out.

_Can'tseetoolowtoolow, can'tseecan'tfight, toolow..._

"We at least need a...direction, some plan..." Steven was keeping his weight off of his bad ankle as he hesitated long enough to push the wet hair out of his face. "Can't just keep running like this, we're not going anywhere."

"Up." It took both men looking at him curiously for Carter to realize he had actually spoken out loud.

"Up," Steven repeated, his brow furrowing. It wasn't a question, really, but Carter nodded confidently, suddenly sure of the idea, even though he had no idea where it had come from.

"We need a vantage point, somewhere defensible, right? Somewhere they can't all come at us at once. We need a roof." He could see the others weighing the options and Steven looked up a little warily before he steeled his expression again and nodded.

"Right - let's find a roof." Hank drew in a deep breath and seemed to push aside the exhaustion forcibly, glancing back once at the infected that had gotten a good deal closer in the short time they had paused.

"There's a few...apartments down here. Gonna have fire escapes - should work, yeah?" Steven set off without another word and the other two followed automatically. Carter made himself hold back a little this time, matching their pace despite the growing urge to run ahead.

_Getupgethigh, toolowtofight, can'tpouncecan'tfight..._

The streams of thoughts had gone from occasional spurts to a fairly steady muttering in the back of his mind. It was difficult to block them out anymore and he just had to focus on ignoring the weirder ones, the ones that urged him to leave the others and get to higher ground on his own.

Carter spotted the first metal staircase when he glanced down an alley as they ran, barely visible through the sheets of rain and shadows.

"I got one!" He ducked into the alley, a mixture of instinct and experience telling him his companions would follow. He barely heard a soft moan from one corner and dispatched the idle infected that had been slumped against the wall without thought.

 _Getup, upnowhavetobehigh, get_ up _._

"The ladder's out, kid." Brown eyes glanced around quickly and narrowed when he spotted the metal ladder, barely sticking out of the water. It might've been just general wear or maybe someone had broken it on purpose, but either way... Hank swore behind him and muttered something to Steven - the words didn't actually sink in as Carter stared around. The persistent mantra continued to ring in his head.

_Getup, havetogetup, havetogetupnow._

"Watch my back," he called over a fresh crack of thunder. Carter ignored his companion's inquisitive looks and stared up at the first platform, his hand tightening around his crowbar restlessly. It was fairly high and the logical part of his mind knew it wasn't a feasible jump...but that part was being drowned out by the part that was determined to get up higher.

He was moving before he realized it. Once again, everything was instinct that he didn't know he had before this; an overturned trashcan was used as a push-off point, the muscles in his leg seemed to coil in preparation, and he found himself jumping a hell of a lot higher than he would've been able to before the breakout. The wind was knocked out of him a little when he hit the platform, but it didn't take more than a heartbeat to recover and pull himself up the rest of the way before turning. He flattened himself on his stomach, one ankle hooked around the nearest metal rung and his good hand reached out toward the two men below him.

"Hank, give him a leg up or something." Carter tried to ignore how the curiosity had turned to plain shock, how Steven's face had darkened a little in what could have been suspicion. "That ankle isn't going to hold for any sort of jumping, you know that."

"There's no way you can pull the both of us up -"

"No offense, Steven, but you're practically skin and bones these days." The slight snap in his own voice surprised him and Carter glanced toward the street. "You can help with Hank, but it's either that or wait to be cornered down here. Something tells me we don't have a lot of time to debate it."

Steven exchanged a quick glance with Hank and there seemed to be some sort of silent communication between them before he nodded quickly.

"Right, fine..."

The growing sense of urgency wasn't helping Carter clear his thoughts or keep his focus. He knew suddenly Steven was gripping his arms with a soft hiss of "Hell, kid, watch those nails," knew that somehow they managed to pull Hank onto the platform with them, and that they had enough of a pause to get a bit of breath back before the first infected appeared at the mouth of the alley. With that, they started up toward the roof.

_Getupgetup, havetoseeprey, havetobehightoseeprey..._

The rain was still coming down in sheets and part of him wondered if they ran more risk of being struck by lightning up here. Regardless, it was less of a risk than being torn apart on the streets. Carter managed to keep his pace slow enough to match the other two, pushing back the instinct that screamed at him to just get off the side of the building as quickly as possible.

The groans of the small horde below them had faded by the time they reached the top of the fire escape. Typically, it didn't actually reach the roof itself - perhaps it was a little pointless having stairs that went all the way up when they were supposed to help people get down - but the apartment that it opened into was quiet. The faint smell of lingering smoke burned the back of his throat and Carter glanced around in an automatic attempt to find the source. There wasn't a good deal of damage, but he could see scorch marks near a door that might have led into the kitchen.

"Think we should hole up in here a while?" Hank's voice was almost drowned out by the continued pounding rain, but it sounded loud in his ears. Carter glanced over at him and could make out the older man's attempts to get his breathing back to normal by resting his hands on the top of his head. "Seems...it's drier, at least."

Steven looked like the idea was tempting, but his eyes were still narrowed as he glanced around the room. It wasn't entirely silent in the building, Carter could tell, but he wasn't sure if the others could pick up on the sounds over the background noise and occasional rolls of thunder.

"We don't know the layout of this place," Steven finally muttered, his free hand pushing wet hair out of his eyes. "I don't want a repeat of that laundromat; too easy to get pinned in rooms like this." The alternative, of course, was being stuck in the rain, but that was preferable to having to fight their way out of another horde. "Come on. Roof access has to be around her somewhere."

They moved slowly through the building, giving a wide berth around broken doors and shadowy rooms. Hank would stop occasionally to pull open drawers and cabinets in search of anything useful, but the place appeared to have been stripped clean. He did grab a slightly tattered coat from off the floor and, ignoring the stains that looked a little too dark to be anything but blood, threw it over his shoulder.

It seemed strange, when considered too carefully, just how apathetic they had all gotten about the state of everything. It didn't matter what sort of stains were on any clothes, as long as they didn't have too many holes. Any slightly flat surface that didn't have jagged metal or anything actively trying to eat them was generally alright to sleep on. It didn't really pay to be picky in the middle of an apocalypse.

Carter found himself getting anxious the longer they spent in search of the stairs. It seemed to be more tense than it had been on the street; out there at least the threat had been visible. In here there were shadows everywhere and the sounds of the storm outside could potentially drown out the sound of anything moving nearby. Every particularly loud crack of thunder left a ringing in the young man's ears and seemed to warp anything he did hear from the doors they were passing.

_Badplaceloud, tooloudcan'tsee, needout..._

"Think we've got it here." Carter started a little - even speaking so quietly, Steven's voice seemed far too loud - and looked around. The older man was half-hidden by shadows in a doorway that was set back a little from the rest. There was a lighter spot on the wall near it, but the sign had been torn down at some point for whatever reason.

"Stairway clear?" Steven paused to peer a little closer into the shadows and listen. There didn't seem to be anything other than the steady pounding of the rain and the thunder, but Carter didn't figure it would do much good to mention that. The older man nodded decisively after a moment.

"Seems like it. Let's get up there before there are any more surprises."

There were a lot of leaks in the roof that had formed into a few unexpected puddles on the stairs, but that was as dangerous as it got. It took a few hard shoves before the door at the top opened enough for them to squeeze through, and Carter noticed a few bullet holes in it as he brought up the rear. Apparently they hadn't been the only ones to think of taking shelter higher up.

It was a relief to find the rooftop empty, if completely soaked. Most of the drainage systems were clogged and he could see a lower point toward the center where it looked like part of it had actually begun caving in. The three took whatever cover they could get under a small overhang that had - so far - survived the storm. The rain hadn't let up in the slightest since they had gotten inside; whatever had started to dry in the short time they had been sheltered from the weather was promptly soaked again.

"You know where we are?" Steven asked, glancing at Hank as he pulled open his bag and started rooting through it. The other man glanced around briefly before his eyes turned up as he thought.

"This building's on...what, somewhere along Oracle? We backtracked a bit - went too far toward 5th."

"Think you can figure out a route?"

"Yeah, I'll think of somethin'." Steven nodded, pulling a water bottle out of the bag and opening it before handing it to the blonde man.

"We'll rest here a while; seems defensible enough up here. See if the rain lets up a bit."

Carter ran his hand back through his hair, trying to block out the throbbing from the bite wound that had joined his headache. His whole body was telling him to rest, but there was still a coiled tension that didn't want to be ignored. They were as safe as they were going to get for now, yet he still felt like he needed to be ready to jump into a fight at any given moment.

"I can take first watch," the younger man offered, pulling his hood back up despite the knowledge that it wasn't going to do a hell of a lot of good. Steven's expression was carefully closed off when he looked over but he nodded after a moment.

"Alright, go for it." He tossed another water bottle over and Carter caught it before pulling the bag off his shoulders and setting it beside the other two. "Keep out of sight; I'd like to actually get a break for once."

The roof wasn't an ideal place to rest, but at this point he figured they would be happy with anything that wasn't currently under siege by the infected. The rain was relentless and Carter found himself wincing as another bolt of lightning lit up the area before booming thunder announced its departure. He made himself take a few drinks from the bottle even though his body insisted it wasn't thirsty. Steven was checking over Hank's bandages when he turned away and he pointedly ignored the storm, striding out into the downpour to the roof's corner.

After a moment of thought, Carter pulled himself up onto the ledge and let his legs dangle over the drop. He tilted his head back, putting his crowbar within arm's reach next to him and letting his eyes close. The water was cool against his face and as long as the thunder wasn't ringing in his ears, the steady sound of the rain was almost pleasant.

Despite the noise, he could hear his companions behind him as they started speaking. It was quiet, but the young man felt himself angle his head a little instinctively to pick up the sound a lot more clearly than he would've thought logical.

"-get some more bandages when we can. We're going through them a lot faster than I like." Steven sounded tired now. He was good at appearing invulnerable when he thought it was necessary, but that act had dropped now. "At least the bleeding stopped."

"S'not as bad as it looks," Hank muttered, though a slight hiss of pain disagreed with his words. "Not that deep..."

"It got down to the bone, Hank, I saw it." Steven paused and sighed after a moment.

"Just gotta keep it clean - try not to open it up again."

"Be nice to heal as fast as Carter, huh? Barely needed the bandages after a few days." Carter glanced down at himself briefly, flexing his shoulders to test the closed-up wounds on his chest. The scar tissue pulled a little, but it didn't seem at risk of tearing.

 _Did you heal that quickly before this?_ He couldn't remember. His attention turned back to the others when Steven spoke again, his voice even lower now.

"There's a lot about that kid that keeps surprising me. He was..." The man hesitated and when he went on, Carter had to strain to hear the words. "How the hell did he do that, Hank?"

"Do what?" Hank's tone suggested that he knew exactly what Steven was talking about and preferred to ignore it. Apparently that wasn't an option.

"You know damn well what. He took down at least ten of those things single-handedly in the middle of a mob. Didn't even get scratched." There was a crunch of gravel and Carter assumed he had sat down; his voice got a little clearer as if he was now facing the corner - as if he was staring at his source of suspicion. "That should've gotten him killed."

"They weren't movin' as fast as usual, not with that water -"

"What about that jump?" Steven cut in. "Ten feet, at least. Straight up. You ever met someone who could manage that?" There was a lengthy silence and Carter was beginning to think Hank wasn't going to reply until he sighed heavily.

"Can't say I have. Hell, I dunno. Nothin' around here is normal anymore. He probably saved our lives; I'm not gonna complain."

"Maybe," the other man conceded, "but with everything else that's happening...I don't want any more surprises. He barely talks anymore, he can outrun both of us, hardly eats even when we get food...I'm glad he was around, sure, but it still seems...off."

"Only helped us so far. Odd, maybe, but it's helped."

"Still - warrants a little concern. I'm still keeping an eye on him." Hank grunted and Carter pulled his attention back to scanning the street below him as they fell silent again.

 _He's still paranoid of you._ It made sense. Hell, who could take out a mob of infected like that? He hadn't even really been aware when he did it, only that one minute he was fending off an attack and the next there were bodies strewn around the area and a good deal of fresh blood spattered on his hoodie. _Seems like a good enough reason to be concerned..._

_Uphigh, gooduphigh, watchpreywatchforfood, goodforpouncing..._

_Who the hell can jump like that, anyway? Not like you were a basketball star or something - could barely run a block a few weeks ago._

_Watergood, preycan'tsmell, goodcovergetmoreprey, good..._

Carter shook his head sharply, one hand going to rub his temple as he turned his face toward the rain again. There wasn't any reason to worry about it; he was pretty well healed from the Stalker's attack, they weren't in any immediate danger now, and they'd get to the evacuation within a few days. He reached to scratch at a spot on his calf that had been itching persistently for a while - probably got debris in his jeans when they were on the street - and let out a steadying breath.

_You're fine. There's nothing wrong with you._

Even so, Steven's words seemed to repeat themselves persistently in the back of his mind; _"How the hell did he do that...?"_


	8. The Repose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which musicals are sung.

The rain stopped just like it had started; it went from a downpour to a steady fall, and then was suddenly gone. The dark clouds overhead promised more to come, but for the moment all that was left of the storm were flooded streets, half-collapsed roofs, and the steady dripping of the men's clothes. Carter wasn't optimistic enough to hope that they might actually dry off, but hell, it was something. The roof turned out to be a good spot. Eventually they could hear the swarm of infected below wander off, and nothing had yet managed to climb up and reach them.

Steven kept a very close eye on the other buildings the whole time. Carter didn't blame him, after the ordeal with the tongue. Whatever it was seemed to have retreated, and for the first time since they left the safe house, they were able to get some rest. The sudden lull in action wasn't comforting. Murphy's Law seemed to have increased in strength with the apocalypse, and there was always the underlying feeling that nothing could stay this serene for long. Still, sheer exhaustion had pushed those concerns to the side. They all got hydrated, passed around the food, and managed to take the edge off the previous hunger – Carter didn't find himself particularly hungry, but it was nice to have the option. The roof was no safe house, with a steel door and concrete walls, but it was better than being on the street.

It was almost, in a cold, soggy kind of way, comfortable.

"What did you do before all this, Carter?"

The young man pulled himself from his thoughts and back into the present. They'd taken to leaning against the door, partly to get a warning if anything tried coming through and partly so nothing could grab them at the edge of the roof. After a moment of consideration _,_ Carter shrugged. Hank liked small talk, and wasn't like they had anything better to do.

"Nothing exciting. I'd gotten a job at that insurance company – you know Cicero's?"

The others both nodded and Hank looked mildly impressed. "That's good pay. They get a lot of business around here."

"Well, not much anymore." Carter scoffed, leaning his head back against the door. "I was the office coffee monkey, but it was enough to cover rent and get groceries. Kinda hoping to start something of my own at some point, but…"

He trailed off and Hank looked away. They all knew the situation, the fact that there was an _extremely_ slim chance of anything like a new business happening any time soon.

"Well," Hank continued doggedly, "when all this gets cleaned up you can be the first office on the block, huh?" Carter managed a grin, shrugging absently, and the older man turned his attention to Steven.

"What about you?" Hank asked. "You were secretly CIA or somethin', right?"

Steven looked over, then quickly away and shook his head. "Not really, no."

"Don't make me pull teeth here, Steven – what'd ya do?"

"It wasn't anything fancy, just…" He glanced between the others, pulled a half-hearted grimace as they both stared at him expectantly, and spread his hands in defeat. "Manager. I ran the…that Chuck-E-Cheeses down on the other end of town."

It was silent for a few moments. The words sunk in and the look on Steven's face claimed he was serious. Carter found himself laughing just as Steven was raising a challenging eyebrow and discovered he couldn't stop. Hank joined in a second later and then, surprisingly, so did Steven. It took a while to get composed again, and hell, how long had it been since they'd all actually laughed at anything?

"You're serious?" Carter managed to choke out. "Oh man, that is _so_ much better than a secret government job."

"Shut up, coffee boy," Steven said, punching him on the shoulder. "It paid well and the most excitement we got was giving the Heimlich to an eight-year-old who swallowed an eraser."

That mental image just started up another bout of laughter, and Steven gave up trying to keep his composure. It might've been mostly from coming off the adrenaline high from the run, but whatever it was felt good. There wasn't much chance or reason to laugh at anything these days; after the day they'd had, any kind of break, especially a mental one, was welcome.

"So Mr. 'Badass with a gun'," Hank began once he got some breath back, "was a professional wrangler of eight-year-olds."

"Emphasis on professional, thank you." Steven pulled in a breath of his own, rubbing his face. "More wrangling the parents than anything else half the time, _they_ were the worst."

The blond man snorted, taking a swig of water. "Alright, so I'll go to Carter for the insurance against zombies and you for…Whack-A-Mole?"

"Call it valuable combat training." Steven reached across Carter and grabbed the water from Hank - not a hard feat, since Hank's bandages made his grip mediocre at best - and nodded at him. "And you?"

Hank paused and started picking at one edge of the wrapping on his right hand, turning to stare distantly across the roof. "Nothing, really."

"C'mon, Hank," Carter said, nudging him with his elbow. "You started it. No backing out now."

"Nah, it's not -" He gave a soft scoff and the grin came back a little. "Literally nothing. Unemployed."

That was met with a wary silence, broken only by the steady dripping that continued around them. Carter tried to think of something that would dispute that, but he realized that nothing Hank had said before this would contradict the statement. It just hadn't come up this specifically.

"Seriously." It wasn't really a question - they'd always found it pretty obvious when Hank was joking. Carter blew out through his lips _._ "Hell, I didn't know that. How long?"

"Little over a year." Hank rolled his shoulders,a grin creasing his face _._ "Company I was with transferred overseas. Landlord evicted me about eight months before this all started. But he's a zombie these days and I'm not, so..."

All traces of mirth had vanished. The silence was broken by distant thunder, a reminder of the storm that was probably going to drench them again within the hour. Steven capped his bottle and stuffed it back in the bag. He leaned his head back against the door, watching the clouds writhe and boil overhead.

"Not to be blunt, but ...why the hell are you so cheerful? Seems like a pretty good reason to be bitter."

"Ah, I dunno." Hank shrugged. "There was this guy...back before the Flu hit, y'know. Passed me every evening on his way home. He must've worked at some deli or somethin' because he always had an extra sandwich to give me." His smile was a little nostalgic, almost fond, as he shifted against the plaster wall. "Always stopped to chat a bit, ask how I was doin'...never even learned his name. After the Flu hit he dropped by once more, said he was leavin' town, asked if I needed a ride anywhere. No idea what happened to him, but..." Another shrug, and the man tipped his head a little to look at the other two. "Just kept remindin' me that even when the world goes to shit, there's still decent people around."

They fell silent,each of them staring off in a different direction. The city below was oddly quiet after the storm; even the usual snarls and moaning on the street were absent. They let the silence linger for a minute or so before Carter broke it.

"So you've always been a sap."

Hank laughed, his usual carefree grin returning as he shoved the younger man with his shoulder. The solemn atmosphere vanished immediately.

"Yeah, pretty much."

They stayed on the roof a good half hour longer, taking advantage of the calm while it lasted. Carter could tell that the overall attitude had shifted into a much lighter one. Even Steven seemed relaxed, which was a novelty. They were likely in the eye of the proverbial storm at this point, but Carter wasn't about to complain. His hand had finally stopped hurting, the headache had abated, and they weren't currently being attacked; that was probably as good as it was going to get.

When the group finally did pack up, Steven immediately began surveying options. He was still keeping weight off of his bad ankle whenever possible, but the drop onto the pavement didn't seem to have had very serious repercussions.

"Not too eager to go back the way we came," he muttered. "Wherever that horde went, it probably wasn't very far. I want to get out of range of them."

Carter peered over the edge to the street. It was still thoroughly flooded, a body or two sticking up over the surface of the water. There weren't any infected in sight, but Steven was right; they had most likely just moved on to the next noise, which meant they were still around somewhere. He scanned the rooftop they were on and then, just on a whim, the next one over. Green eyes narrowed a little and he glanced back to Hank.

"Which way do we have to go?"

"From here?" The blond man considered it a moment, eyes lifting. "We should probably get back to Aspen if we're tryin' to avoid Knoles - that one's bound to be crawlin' with infected, and I don't wanna pass the Wal Mart."

"So that way?" Carter jabbed a thumb at the other roof, and Hank nodded.

"There's a platform over there that goes to the next building over," Carter told him. "If we can manage to get off this one it'll at least get us a distance away from that group."

Steven came to stand next to him, squinting over at the building before nodding. "He's right. Think someone was using the roofs to get around - smart, really. Only one problem with that plan." He nodded at the alley below them. "We don't have any way of getting over there without going down anyway."

"No, there's gotta be...hang on." Carter shrugged his bag off and pulled himself onto the ledge to see better, ignoring Steven's quick noise of warning. There were deep puddles on the other roof too, but after a moment he spotted something else. "There's still wood over there. Same kind as the other one. I think they just pulled it back when they crossed."

"Doesn't exactly help us, kid." There was a note of contempt in Steven's voice. "It's over there and we're not."

"I can get over there, though."

Steven's eyes narrowed and he glanced between the two ledges critically before shaking his head. "No way. We can't risk it."

"It's not a risk," Carter insisted, "I can make it."

"That's at least a sixty foot drop, Carter." Steven's voice had turned authoritative. "We have a better chance against the infected than you would have surviving that fall." His tone held no room for argument, but that just made Carter all the more determined to prove his point. It was a little surprising when Hank stepped up instead.

"I think he can manage it," he said thoughtfully. "You saw that jump earlier."

"Yes, I did." His voice had dropped lower, but Steven looked resigned now that both of them were siding against him. "I didn't like that one either. Besides, that was...adrenaline and everything. No one's chasing us up here."

"C'mon, Dad," Carter said, smirking at the glare thrown his way. "Never know unless I try, right? I know I can make it."

Steven took a moment to glance between them, looking more and more unhappy by the second. Eventually he sighed, one hand going to rub the back of his head as he looked at the other roof again. "I'm out-voted, apparently. Just...hell, do _not_ kill yourself with a stupid jump."

"I'll be fine, trust me." Carter hopped down from the ledge and backed up, swinging his arms while trying to judge the kind of momentum he'd need, before deciding that over-thinking wouldn't do him any good. The distance between the two roofs probably ought to be more daunting; as it was, his energy was up, confidence a lot higher than it had been in a long time, and he was just eager to get moving again.

He was running before consciously deciding to. In the split second before he hit the edge he saw Steven, one hand halfway raised as if to grab him, and Hank with an expression that looked like he was regretting backing this decision. It came a little late; one quick hop onto the ledge, a strong push off, and he was in the air. Carter had expected that drop in his stomach – the kind people got on roller coasters or skydiving or something – but instead there was a surge of elation and a flash of power, almost too quick to even notice. A split second later he was hitting the other side, rolling instinctively and promptly getting soaked all over again.

Carter hopped back up immediately, grinning over at the others who looked simultaneously shocked and a little impressed.

"Hate to say I told you so," he called, and Steven promptly regained his usual serious expression, rolling his eyes.

"Still doesn't mean I like it," he said, grabbing Carter's bag and slinging it over one shoulder. "Now get those boards up, we need to get moving."

Carter nodded, turning to the plank that was propped against the roof's ledge. It was heavier than it looked when he hefted it up, and luckily didn't seem to have softened in the rain. Getting it over to the other side was probably meant to be a two-man job, he realized; the length was awkward and it took a good bit of maneuvering to swing it over far enough for Steven to reach. Once it was resting on both roofs, though, it did seem like a sound plan.

There was a quick hushed debate on the other side, apparently regarding who was going first because it ended with Steven shoving Hank forward and Hank stepping up onto the ledge. He was staring at the board as if willing it to be steady and tested it with one foot hesitantly.

"If I die, it's entirely your fault, Carter," he called before stepping onto the wood with a quick intake of breath. It didn't shift, and after a second or two Hank seemed to steel himself and strode across the rest of the distance quickly, eyes firmly on the other ledge. He looked satisfied when he dropped down to the roof and shot Carter a quick grin before turning and waving at Steven. "C'mon, then - just don't look down, right?"

"It's not the height I've got a problem with," Steven shot back, but he still looked wary when he stood on the ledge. He let out a quick puff of breath when he stepped forward, and the next mutter came right after a low rumble of thunder. "Didn't I see this movie once…?"

Carter found himself laughing again just as Steven hopped down to their level. He took his bag back when it was held out and raised an eyebrow. "With McMurphy and the nurse?"

The look he got was some mix of surprise and amusement, and Steven laughed too, setting off across the roof at the best stride he could manage with his ankle. There was even the hints of a tune when he continued it. "That hospital was heavy, but this cuckoo's nest is worse."

"Hell, I didn't know anyone else actually _knew_ that one."

"You kidding?" Steven laughed again despite himself. "My wife was obsessed with it."

Hank was looking between them, obviously extremely confused, when they got to the next set of boards. It didn't get any better when Carter crossed them quickly and spun around, eyes lifting for a moment.

"Alright, alright let's see – Superboy and the invisible girl?"

"Son of steel and daughter of air – c'mon kid, give me an actual challenge."

"What the hell are you two on?" Hank cut in, and they both glanced over at him, then each other, and then cracked up simultaneously.

"Show tunes, Hank, come on!" Carter said. "You know any Broadway?"

"I know Disney movies, if those count."

"Disney movies it is, then. What was the one with the chameleon, I loved that one…"

They discovered that Steven had the best singing voice, and Carter definitely had the worst. He made the argument that it was hard to judge when they were still instinctively so quiet, the paranoia that something might hear them strong even this high up. It was a pretty extensive network of buildings, and all of the roof-access doors were boarded up securely. It seemed likely that whoever had set it up had left, removing that first board so the zombies couldn't wander in, but hadn't made it impossible to come back later.

Their jeans were soaked again from wading across the rooftops, but after everything else, a little water seemed trivial. Steven was going slowly enough that his ankle wasn't acting up as much as before, and Hank looked a lot more energized since losing all of that blood on the streets. Carter didn't want to mention it, simply because that would be admitting that there had been a problem in the first place, but his headache seemed to have vanished and all of the old injuries finally felt old.

The last roof had its door blocked, but this time just by a bunch of heavy desks and boxes. There was a partial camp still set up underneath a tarp. Most of the stuff was still soaked, but there wasn't anything that really suffered from it. There was no debate about leaving anything behind; the place didn't look like it had been lived in for at least a few days, and it was getting tougher to worry about anyone outside of their immediate group.

They came away with a decent amount of sealed food – mostly jerky and trail mix, a huge relief as they had been running low on anything of substance and the energy boost would be welcome – bottles of water, bandages, and a box of 9 mm bullets that fit Hank's Glock. It took some work to get to the door, and the group fell quiet again making their way back down to the street. They fell into the usual formation of Steven at the lead, Hank a few feet behind him, and Carter watching the rear. Hank looked over the first street signs they came across and grinned.

"Actually goin' in the right direction for once," he said. "Should hit the edge of the city in a day or two, and then it's a straight shot to the school."

Steven nodded, doing a cursory glance around them. "Alright then. Let's get to that evac, shall we boys?"

It was a little ironic that they seemed to be in the best mood in days when the sun was still completely hidden, and water sloshed around their ankles no matter where they walked. But hell, they were all more or less in one piece, and for the first time in a week Carter found himself optimistic that they might get there alive.


End file.
